Extenuating Circumstances
by Basement-Harem
Summary: The Elder Wand was supposed to be laid to rest in Dumbledore's tomb, never to be used again in this life time. But what if life had some other ideas? Rating may be subject to change...
1. Build God, then we'll talk

Not mine. All characters, settings, timelines et cetera belong to the remarkable J.K. Rowling. I just like to play in her world.

Chapter 1- Build God, Then We'll Talk

December 13th 1999. Approximately one year and seven months since the fall of the dark lord. Nineteen crazy, tiring, whirlwind months filled with funerals, paparazzi, speeches, ceremonies, awards, nightmares and depression. The fervour over the end of the battle had finally died down enough that the golden trio had been free to start pursuing their dreams. They had been told once they defeated Lord Voldemort that they could do anything. However, not even murdering an evil megalomaniac makes things go according to plan.

Hermione Granger sighed and put her mug of tea and bitter thoughts aside to go answer the door. It was rare nowadays she had a night to herself and it seemed that this evening was destined to go no differently. She strode to the door, waved her wand and stood back to allow one drunken Harry Potter to stumble into her quarters. This had, sadly, been a rather common occurrence ever since Ginny Weasley had very publically ended their engagement two months ago. Hermione had thought that he had been getting better.

Very obviously, he was not.

Routine led her to very expertly manoeuvre him into her own vacated chair by the fire, replace the bottle he still clutched with a mug of tea liberally spiked with dreamless sleep and slide a bucket at his feet within seconds. No sooner was he comfortably seated then he burst into tears.

"Draco SODDING Malfoy!" he moaned.

So he had found out. Hermione groaned internally. She had feared this ever since the Prophet had begun speculating on the couple a few weeks ago.

"You can't believe everything the papers say Harry-" she began earnestly only to be cut off by another wail.

"No! Not the press, I saw them! Her giggling with her bloody head on HIS SHOULDER! Holding hands and GIGGLING with BLOODY Draco Malfoy!" He dissolved into tears again, went to take a swig from the fire whisky, seemed surprised at the mug of tea in his hand, and sucked it back all the same.

"After everything I DID! I saved the world! Promised her the- the MOON if she wanted it!"

He began ranting and Hermione tuned him out, pausing only to murmur sympathetic nothings every time Harry paused for a breath or another swallow of the tea. She took the time to reflect on the fact that the life of the Boy who Lived had only gotten more difficult over the years when it had been assured by all people that it would only get better. Had he not suffered enough as a child, left alone by all adults and only told enough to survive the next challenge ahead of him?

It wasn't, Hermione mused, that she blamed Ginny for leaving Harry. While the only Weasley daughter did seemed to have genuine affection for the boy, she loved men too much and was too young to want to be tied just to one. After the war, Harry had prepared to settle down with Ginny almost immediately, and she had balked at the suggestion. So Harry had agreed to take things slowly and they had been engaged at her own suggestion at the one year mark after the war. No one had suspected that Charlie would die four months later and cause Ginevera to take a step back and revaluate her life. She had broken off the engagement- and Harry's heart- soon after, claiming she wasn't ready for that kind of commitment.

Regardless, Hermione and Ginny had remained friends, though she felt that Harry was in more need of her support right now then Ginny. She was sure he would recover eventually, but right now it was just the spark he had needed on top of the survivor's guilt and depression to make him do reckless things.

He had even given up on his one ambition to be an Auror after he had failed the entrance exams on technicality and it was his willingness to just give up and not try again that frustrated Hermione the most. Ever since Miss Weasely had neglected to become Mrs. Potter it was difficult enough for him to muster up the energy to eat breakfast in the morning.

Slowly the potion began to take its affect and with a mumbled "I love you Hermione" Harry's hysterics died out and left him snoring gently in her favourite armchair.

"I love you too, best friend." She replied, and set about levitating him to her guest room.

The house Hermione currently lived in was her parent's way of dealing with the guilt of turning away their daughter while simultaneously telling her to never come back. They had bought her a cozy flat in muggle London that wasn't too far from any apparition points but also fairly far away from them after she had returned them and their memories to their home in England.. They had forgiven their daughter for her rash actions in light of it being what most probably saved their lives, but the knowledge of the power it gave her over them had also made them wary. Pride had given way to fear of their brilliant daughter and other then the occasional strained letter out of a sense of propriety Hermione had next to no contact with her family at all.

That wasn't the only part of her life that hadn't gone exactly as she had planned it either. Between her falling out with Ronald within five weeks of their relationship, her difficulty securing a position as an apprentice under most any master and her own depression following the battle, things weren't nearly as rosy as she would have liked them to be.

Ron himself had, last she heard, hooked up with Luna Lovegood who was currently studying wandlore abroad under the tutelage of Olivander, who had recovered significantly since his torture at Malfoy Manor, but felt his days were numbered nonetheless. Ron was currently studying to be an Auror himself, finally beating Harry at something.

She settled the man she had come to think of as her brother on the bed and frowned at the lines that turned down his mouth even with the dreamless sleep in his system. She tried to remember the last time she had seen Harry's eyes clear, his face smooth and untroubled and came up short. "Oh Harry, what are we going to do?" She murmured, slowly closing the door. She walked downstairs to retrieve her own cold tea and her neglected novel, turning over in her mind just problem. What were they going to do?

AN: Chapter title is a reference to a Panic! At the Disco song. Luna studying to make wands is something I'm sure I read somewhere and I liked it so much I stole it. If anyone knows who it belongs to I would love to give them their props.


	2. In sleep he sang to me

If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing this. And the seventh book wouldn't have ended the way it did.

Chapter 2- In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came

The next morning dawned as cold, empty and white as the sheet of paper currently lying across the kitchen table. Hermione's head jerked up as Harry virtually bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen. She frowned groggily and glanced at the clock. The scowl deepened as she realized that her friend was up much earlier then the dosage she had thrown in his drink last night should have allowed. Obviously his body was gaining some resistance to the dreamless sleep potion which made her wonder just how much he was abusing it.

"Morning 'Mione! You look terrible." Harry trilled with much more cheer then anyone who drank liberally last night should ever have been allowed.

"I look a damn sight better then you did earlier this morning." She retorted snippily, running her hand through her tangles of hair as his silly grin slid right off his face.

"I am sorry. You know that right? If my house wasn't always surrounded by reporters and-"

"Harry. My house is always open to you! I just wish you wouldn't do this to yourself!" she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

His jaw tightened and he turned away abruptly, his shoulders and back a straight line. They had gone back and forth with this argument tirelessly and both of them knew it wouldn't get resolved any time soon. A few terse flicks of his wand sent dishes clattering about the kitchen.

"You found the hangover cure I left you?" she ventured, trying to wash away the anger that hovered between them.

He nodded and set more things clanging about angrily. The silence stretched unpleasantly until he had rummaged through her fridge and turned around abruptly.

"French toast?" he through out casually, but the pleading in his eyes for a truce betrayed just how fine a line he had climbed back from.

She had to smile.

"Sure, Harry."

The tension immediately drained from his face and posture and he set to work with ingredients, more at home in her kitchen then she had ever been.

"So… you really do look like a mess." He said matter-of-factly as he dipped bread into the freshly cracked egg mix.

"Couldn't sleep." She grumbled, and swiped a hand self-consciously through her hair again, hoping that Harry would leave it at that.

"Couldn't sleep because….?" Harry gently probed. What else had she expected? Her best friend would never let anything go when it came to anyone else. The boy wonder was just as caring as he had been at eleven as he was now, something she loved the most about him.

"Don't worry Harry, it's just this stupid dream I've been having."

Not entirely a lie, she had been having a reoccurring dream that had, in fact, kept her awake countless nights. But it wasn't the truth either, and it stung that she couldn't tell her closest friend what was really going on. Even if, she reasoned, it was for his own good that he didn't know what she was up to.

Harry stopped in the act of dropping a piece of soaked bread into the pan. She knew that he considered the business of dreams to be a serious thing, something that still lingered from his Voldemort days, and began to curse herself for bringing this up.

"Not like you know…. your dreams. They aren't visions. I doubt if they're even real." She reasoned, trying to soothe him "It's just… like a giant puzzle I have to solve."

Without a word, he slid a perfect plate of French toast in front of her and she waved her wand carelessly to summon syrup. He waited until she had taken a bite and pronounced it heavenly before dishing up his own plate and joining her at the table. She was halfway finished when he began pressing her for more details.

"If this thing is robbing you of sleep Hermione then it must be fairly serious. More serious then you're letting on" he said, his green eyes questioning, concerned and remarkably clear. She realized with a jolt that this was the first time she felt like she had his full attention since the days when he was dating Ginny. Perhaps he was getting better after all.

She frowned, and absentmindedly put more of his absolutely spectacular French toast on her plate. Trying to shape her dream into words was going to be a challenge and she found herself actually wanting to discuss it with him. Besides which, didn't people always say that the best lie is the truth?

"It's…dark." She began, hesitantly. "And cold I think. I'm following someone, I need to catch them before they get to something and it's really important. But… I don't know where I am, I don't know who this person is and I don't know what they're doing. I just know I have to catch them."

Silence reigned once more in the kitchen and Hermione tried to break the awkward stillness by shrugging, giving a little bark of forced laughter.

"See? I told you it's nothing. It's probably just the affects of stress or something." She said.

Finally, Harry moved, giving her a smile and collecting their dishes.

"Yeah, you're probably right. But tell me if they change at all ok 'mione? I'm worried about you."

"You? Worried about me?" she teased and got up to help him do the dishes, magically drying them and sending them flying back to their cupboards meekly as he handed them to her.

"Hey 'Mione? Does today feel lucky to you?"

"How do you mean?"

"I just… feel like there's something special about today. Kinda like when I had Felix back in sixth year, you remember?"

She smiled at the memory, at how crazy she and Ron had both thought he had been after he drank the little bit of golden potion.

"How can I forget?"

"Well, I think I'm gonna go find a job today. Really do it! I mean, how hard can it be for the famous Harry Potter to secure employment, right?"

She chuckled and shook her head, not daring to hope- "Do you think maybe you could take the Entrance exams at the ministry and-"

Harry froze and woodenly turned to put her frying pan away by hand, his face suddenly closed off.

"I'm sorry, it's just-" but he cut her off again with a mute shake of his head.

"You don't need to apologise. It's okay Hermione. There are just some things that even you don't understand."

She turned away, hurt a little. They had been through almost everything together! The war and beyond. It was she who helped him every night she thought bitterly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, able, as always, to tell when she was feeling resentful.

"Thanks again Hermione. You're the best mistake I ever made." He said sincerely, and she smiled weakly.

"I'll be out and about, but my house is open if you need it Harry, always is."

"Yeah, yeah. See you later!" and with that he swung her door closed and she watched from the kitchen window as he bounded down the street. It really must be a special day, she mused, his spirits were higher then she had ever seen them.

AN: Title is a quote from Andrew Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera.


	3. Life in Technicolour

If I owned it, let's just say it would have been a little messier.

Chapter 3- Life in Technicolor

Hermione left her tiny house not much long after Harry had bounded so happily down her sidewalk, used a muggle key both out of habit and pretence along with a bit of surreptitious wand waving to ward the place and headed out into the cheerful neighbourhood. She moved briskly in the late morning towards one of the new official 'ministry approved' apparition points that she found to be time consuming and unnecessary. Honestly, it was just a ploy so that the ministry could keep closer tabs on where people were coming and going from. Still, it wasn't like the three block's walk was going to kill her. A quick turn and a pop later, she was walking down a narrow street two blocks from her childhood home.

Whenever she could, Hermione headed out to the first library she had ever known. A local place, it had always felt more like home from the age of 5 then her parent's house ever had. She had known all the librarians by name. While it was not particularly the best stocked collection ever, it had certain sentimentality to it, and she wanted to begin her research there. Entering through the doors that were badly in need of another coat of paint, she took a deep breath and let the nostalgia hit her.

"Hello Miss. Granger!" she heard an old, wavering voice trill out from the counter.

The smile stretched across her face immediately

"Mrs. Matthews!" she cried out.

"Shhh now dear, this is still a library." The librarian, spry as she had ever been, hurried around the counter and pressed Hermione's hand in both of her own. "It is so good to see you again!"

She smiled up at Hermione and started pulling her along the aisles.

"I'm sure you will want our… special section." She whispered with a sparkle in her faded blue eyes that had never changed.

Hermione let out a strained laugh. The fact that Dumbledore had put a magical section into her hometown library, accessible only to those who wielded magic and this one particular librarian had always left her feeling uncomfortable. She had often suspected in was done for her, which accordingly made her feel guiltily grateful. As soon as the Hogwarts letter had come, she had run straight to the library and read up everything they had on witchcraft, muggle and wizard written alike. She wondered how many other kids had been as lucky.

They arrived at the gates hidden behind a rather eccentric potted plant and the old lady pressed her hand once more before releasing it. "I'll leave you to it then." She murmured in her soft, knowing voice and Hermione fell into all the precious books as easily as she had all her life.

Three hours later Hermione surfaced, irritable and with her hair in disarray. Much as she loved this old building, it just wasn't supplying her with the answers she so desperately needed. Placing the beloved old friends with their well-worn pages back onto their respective shelves, she waved a goodbye to Mrs. Matthews who was helping a little girl check out books and hit the streets. A walk to work the kink out of her muscles and her brain was needed, she decided, and began to move her feet along the familiar streets of the little town. What she needed, was food and more resources. A big selection of books on powerful magical objects. Frowning, she considered the ministry, but even though the minister of magic was Kingsley and he was always willing to do her favours, her feverishly rifling through ministry references would raise questions and the last thing she wanted was them poking their nose into her plans. Even in rough stages, she knew that they weren't likely to be approved of, and possibly not even legal.

What she needed, she realized rather reluctantly, was Hogwarts. Only there could she get a hold of the questionable written works she needed without too much concern or complaint. All she needed to do was feed McGonagall a few words about a research project for an apprenticeship application and the woman would allow her all the time she needed.

First though, there was the matter of food. Though Harry's French toast had been phenomenal it had been eaten when the sun was still rising. She set off swiftly through the residential neighbourhood, intent on locating a little café. So intent in fact, she failed to notice the man in black following her.

Harry apperated with a louder crack then usual, a perpetual spring in his step as he bounded through the streets of London. Life seemed to spark all around him. To everyone who saw him he appeared at the top of his game and he had a smile for all. As he slid into the Leaky Cauldron, he gave Tom Jr. a delighted "Hello!" waved mockingly to the reporters leaning against the bar and headed directly into Diagon Alley. Even after opening the arch and immediately spotting his voluptuous ex girlfriend holding hands with Malfoy couldn't completely pop his bubble. He wondered idly if Hermione's hangover potion had been spiked with something and giggled quietly to himself. It was nice to be out in public again, he decided, even with the vultures with cameras lurking about.

First stop, George and Angelina's shop he settled on flightily. However, as he made his way along the crowded and happy streets, Luna Lovegood found him first.

"Harry Potter!" She said happily, and seized him about the wrist.

"Ummm… hey Luna." He managed awkwardly, a tad taken aback by the way she had suddenly appeared from the crowd and clung to him.

"I'm sorry if this seems a tad abrupt. I'm not disturbing you, am I?" her overlarge eyes had, if possible, gotten even bigger since he had last seen her.

"Of course not." He humoured her, and regretted it as she threw her arms about him and the camera flashes began. He groaned internally, knowing that the morning's papers would be full of speculation about him stealing Ron's girlfriend.

"It has been too long!" Luna declared, and smiled up at him in that simple way she had.

"It really has."

"I know that things are… strained between us Harry, but please come to dinner? Oh say you will! It would make Ron and I so happy!" the way she pleaded pulled at his heart.

"Alright Luna, what time works for you?" it really had been so long, and he hated to admit it, but he had missed Ron.

"Thursday! At sixish? I would say earlier but Ronald works until five and-"

"Six is fine Luna. Later even, if you want." He cut her off, smiling at just how little the younger woman had changed.

"Alright, see you then Harry! Oh, and by the way, have you been by the new café by Flourish and Blots? It's absolutely divine! Oh, I've got to get back to work. Mr. Ollivander will be cross if I'm late! Until Thursday!" and with a swift kiss on the cheek she slipped away into the people, her dirty blonde hair swinging in the sunlight.

Harry stood there, bemused, allowing the crowd to jostle him until his brain digested the overwhelming energy that was Luna in action. It seemed he had dinner plans. For the first time in two months. The smile that spread across his face was genuine for the fifth time today. He set off up the road once again, heading towards Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, heart even fuller then it had been. Maybe he should buy a new outfit or something, he mused. And he would have to check out the shop she had mentioned, though knowing Luna, there was likely something very… eccentric about it.

A/N: short, mostly filler. Trying to set up this story and I'm sorry if it feels a little slow moving. I'm frustrated with this chapter, but it's necessary for the next one I'm afraid.

The title is a song title by Coldplay.


	4. One Piece at a Time

Nope nope nope I'm not J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with her characters.

Chapter 4- One Piece at a Time

One more pleasant conversation later, this time in the brilliant magenta joke store, and Harry was starting to find his own good mood incredibly disconcerting. To his surprise Angelina and George had both also recommended the same café as Luna when he had mentioned it, so he was headed there for late lunch now.

He wandered down the street, smiling abstractly when people recognized him and moved out of his way, and almost missed the little coffee shop. It blended in with the other old buildings, standing out mostly in that it didn't have the flashiness Harry had always associated with the wizarding folk. It had a faded black awning embellished with a silver "Starstruck" that hung over a muted and tasteful door with big open windows. Intrigued, Harry pushed absently through the crowd and was about to swing the doors open when a big man materialized in front of him.

"Whoa!" Harry yelped taking two steps back and dropping his hand from where the man's shoulder now resided.

The man did not smile, he crossed his arms menacingly.

Harry decided to try to take the high road and said brightly "Cool trick there! Can I get in now?"

The man's frown deepened.

Harry suppressed a nervous laugh and tried to look for a sign or something that could explain why this person was glaring so condescendingly at him. He was saved by a high accented voice trilling,

"Is zere a problem here?"

Harry blinked for a second time, wildly taken aback. At first it felt like he had fallen through a time warp back to fourth grade before he realized that this must be Fleur's little sister Gabrielle. She had grown to be the mirror image of her sister over the years.

The big man turned his icy blue eyes away from Harry's and spoke to the short blonde in concise, clipped French. Slowly, her face hardened and the boy wonder stood there feeling awkward as she tossed her sheet of silvery hair back and snapped out three sharp words.

"Non! C'est impossible!"

The large fellow grunted and turned away abruptly to enter the restaurant, Harry moved to follow him, feeling confused but still willing to give the place a chance, even though he wasn't exactly sure why. His brow puckered as he wondered why he was so agreeable today.

"'Arry Potter. You remember me, no? Of course you do." Mini-Fleur was speaking he realized with a jolt.

"Zere seems to be a problem, I am afraid. Monsieur Henry, 'e is saying something that is- well it ees just not possible knowing you. 'E wants to test before 'e lets you in however, and 'e ees zee boss' son so-" she shrugged prettily.

Harry just nodded, feeling a little lost. What had he done to offend this Henry fellow? All he had done was try to enter the coffee shop. None of his friends had mentioned a test to enter, and it seemed like the sort of thing Angelina at least would find important to mention. He watched four other groups wander into the store and sighed. Obviously, it was something to do with him being Harry Potter.

"Here he is Bryan. I keep saying the wards went off, but la petite fille belle here wants your approval." He scowled at Gabrielle, who merely gave him a haughty sniff and shook back her hair again.

"Heyyyy there, sweet cakes" The man called Bryan purred, sidling up to Harry. His eyes were an odd shade of amber, and when he smiled his teeth seemed to end on points. Harry felt instantly uncomfortable.

"Mr. Potter, right?" he trilled and shook Harry's hand rigorously. "Mmm… firm but soft, I like that."

"Monsieur Calicio, please hurry eet up!" apparently Gabrielle had inherited her patience from her Veela ancestors.

"I'm sorry to say this about such a fine… specimen of man but it is true, he's got the traces of potion running alllll through his system. The wards were bang on; in fact if they hadn't caught it I would've been worried! So much black market magic it's practically flying off of him in sparks!" the man reported, seeming genuinely disappointed.

The big man… Henry, Harry thought, she said Henry, smirked in the superior way of all macho men, and Gabrielle seemed shocked.

"Hey, I have no problem with illegal usage," Bryan whispered with a wink "But this establishment doesn't put up with any funny business. We almost lost the joint we have in France to a ring of solicitors and ever since then the boss-"

"Zat will be enough of zat! Bryan, you can go now!" Gabrielle's voice rang out sharply.

"Well, it was verrryy nice meeting you Mr. Potter, even… well I'd better go!" Bryan tailed off hastily at a menacing look from Henry. He was gone almost as fast as he had materialized.

"What did he mean black market potion?" Harry asked hurriedly before he was talked over again.

Both of the employees looked rather grim as they exchanged a glance.

"Pree'aps you had better come with me Harry. Even eef you do not know what ees going on- well, eet would be for zee best if the aurors they were not arresting you, yes?" and with that ominous statement, Henry was sidling back through the doors and Fleur's little sister was dragging the Boy Wonder around the back of the shop.

"Wait, what is going on?" he yelped. His wrist hurt where her nails were digging in.

"Shhh! Do not attract zee attention!" she hissed, and he had no choice but to be pulled into the alleyways by the domineering blonde.

Hermione ended up at a cute little diner where she had a rushed lunch and wrote over all the napkins she could find before she headed off in search of the next Ministry approved apparition point. She reflected grumpily that if these had been in place during the war she and the boys would have easily been dead at least three times over. She spotted the tell tale little dancing star and hurried up to it with a sigh of relief, bouncing straight off a tall figure swathed in black and hit the ground with a thud.

"Oh! I'm so sorry-" she began, but was not given a chance to even regain her footing before the man grunted and swept by her.

That had been rude she thought and brushed her warm overcoat down. A quick toss of her curls and she felt less shaken up. She decided she would brush the silent wizard from her memory and focus on her goal. If only she could just isolate the object she was missing! Frowning, she reached for the napkins she had written her last thoughts on, and realized with a shock that they were gone. She looked around and saw one fluttering down the crowded English street with dismay. They must have fallen out of her pocket when the man had hit her. She scowled darkly, feeling her resentment bubble up towards him once more. It was time to head to Hogwarts, especially if she had to start all over again.

A/N: There IS a plan here. I think. Henry and Bryan are mine I'm afraid. The title is a reference to the song of the same name by Johnny Cash.


	5. Dazed and Confused

I could never take credit for the genius of J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 5- Dazed and Confused

The morning dawned bright, early and cold. Hermione jolted awake with a shiver and blinked wearily at the large tome she had fallen asleep on. Her eyes were screaming after almost a full day and night of nonstop reading. It was a miracle she didn't need reading glasses yet she reflected wryly. McGonagall had been as warmly and full-heartedly supportive of her favourite lion cub as usual. She had even generated her own excuses as to why Hermione had wanted to use the resources of the castle. Her eagerness had added some of the guilt to the shoulders Hermione was now working the kinks out of.

She closed the old book with frustration, thinking that even if she had come across something that would have worked she would never have known it. There was absolutely no way to find the answer to: what kind of powerful magic exists that can change circumstances? What the wizarding world needed was Google, she decided. Well, she could add it to her list. Right after getting Harry through his life crisis, setting things right with her family, completing her research and finding steady employment.

A quick glance at her watch showed her that while it was still early, she had best get moving. Hermione set to work, moving through the shelves of another place she knew so well it could practically be thought of as sanctuary. Maybe she should move into a library, she thought, since she felt more at home in them then houses. This particular house of books had been her playground for six years- seven if you counted the brief period she was back to complete her NEWTS properly. Ten or so minutes later, the texts she had pored over so diligently were all settled back in their proper places. Ten minutes to return hours of fruitless work.

Hermione took a few gasps of air, trying to get her breathing back to normal. She lamented that most of these books were so fragile that she couldn't have just moved them back with magic. Then again, she reflected as she grabbed her jacket and smiled at an ancient looking Madame Pince, the exercise did librarians good. It was sad to see how much of the foreboding woman had wasted away since the war. Even now she only managed a lacklustre glower for Hermione when usually she would have snarled at her and had some witty remark. No, the aftermath had affected a lot of people negatively. Which was why this plan needed to work!

She began to move swiftly through the big, silent halls her footsteps echoing impressively. Hogwarts always felt weird when there were no students in it. Like the whole building was hibernating, resting up for the midgets' return. Hermione's intent was to go thank the Headmistress for her hospitality once more and then head home for a quick shower before she went to work. However, a quick glance at her watch informed her that it was a little early to go disturb the professor, at least politely. She skidded to a halt before she reached the stairs and frowned, debating. She really didn't want to leave without at least saying goodbye, but she wanted time before work! Not that the goblins would mind if she was late. They would probably revel in having more time to booby trap her desk. But even so the bank didn't expect her until ten. It was only a quarter to seven now. She supposed she could wait around until seven thirty and say her goodbyes. But what was she to do in the mean time? Hogwarts had given her more then enough hospitality already and she wasn't even sure what clearance Minerva had given the wards in regards to her. She began to amble away from the staircase, trying to decide where to go for 45 minutes when a door opened and Professor Flitwick scooted out.

"Hello, Hermione!" he called out brightly.

She smiled warmly at the little man. If some people had suffered from the after effects of the war, then the older man had only gotten brighter. He still went about like the energizer bunny with a sparkle in his eye and a smile for everyone. He practically bounced on his heels as he shook his head and babbled to her about how great it was to see her so unexpectedly and soon had corralled her into having breakfast with him. She shook her head, a tad dazed at his excitement but relieved she had something to do while waiting to say goodbye to Professor McGonagall. Besides which, the lure of rich Hogwarts food that she didn't have to cook herself set her practically to drooling.

"… and besides which, I have something to discuss with you! Yes I think you would be just perfect!" so with that she was dashing alongside the little man as he headed up to his quarters in a hurry.

HPHPHPHP~

Harry was confused and starting to feel upset. And he didn't want to be upset! He wanted to be happy! No, he definitely disliked that he wasn't cheerful. What were they talking about 'black market potions'? He hadn't even eaten lunch today; hence he was going to the restaurant in the first place! The only things he had consumed had been French toast and the hangover potion at Hermione's. He had made that toast for Merlin's sake and Hermione was the last person he would ever suspect of slipping him anything!

She was not the sort to engage in illegal activities. Well, he conceded, there had been that time with the Polyjuice, but other then when she was saving the world, his life, or both she never bent the rules. No, this definitely had to be another matter entirely.

Maybe they were kidnapping him for a publicity stunt! Yes, that seemed likely. Even though he didn't think it was the sort of thing the Delacour girls would do, and that included Gabrielle. Then again, she was growing up. She even had a job now, so who knew what else could have changed?

'Ere!" she said a little breathlessly, stopping abruptly and shoving him into a narrow crevice between the back of the kitchens and what looked to be a garden shed of sorts.

Harry winced in pain. Why couldn't he have a normal day out in public for once?

"Stay 'ere until I come back for you 'Arry! Zee Aurours will have arrived by now." And with that she was gone again, leaving Harry grumpier then ever, hungry and confused in a smelly dark alleyway like a criminal or something.

How dare they? He thought darkly. Was this anyway to treat someone who saved only you know the whole wizarding world? He settled down grumpily into the tight space.

_Unless they really are trying to help you_, a voice that sounded an awful lot like Hermione whispered in the back of his head. _Even if you haven't done anything illegal, they don't necessarily know that, _it pointed out reasonably.

That was right! Harry brightened up. When they figured out they were wrong he would graciously forgive them, of course and they would feel so bad but it would be alright. Then he could get on with life. Yes, this wasn't so bad after all. He moved back deeper into the crack and found what looked like a semi-comfortable barrel to sit on. Now all he had to do was wait.

HPHPHPHP~

Hermione was settled down on a cushion in Professor Flitwick's charming quarters at his low table waiting for the food they had ordered from the kitchens to arrive. Her charming former teacher had practically begged her to indulge herself, so she was waiting earnestly for the crepes with fresh whipped cream and strawberries. Flitwick had fallen silent after placing his own order for oatmeal heavy on the brown sugar, milk and a flute of chocolate mousse. She found the sudden quiet eerie if not uncomfortable and shifted slightly on her little cushion.

"It's odd that you should choose today to show up here Miss Granger." He began, slowly now and with more regard for his words "You see I was going to send you a letter sometime this week. But, well, this makes things easier, more friendly. You see, I'm getting up there in years-"

She raised her voice in friendly protest.

"Oh yes, I am." He contradicted with a chuckle "and I remember a particularly brilliant student with a natural talent for Charms asking me about a year ago for an apprenticeship and what I'm trying to get at is, would you consider being my apprentice?"

AN: Like Harry, I'm afraid I'm making you guys wait. I can't wait to write him when he's not so OOC :P Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and readers! You are what make the story. The title is a reference to the Led Zeppelin song of the same name.


	6. Heart Shaped Glasses

NOT MINE.

Chapter 6- Heart Shaped Glasses

Hermione had ate the rest of her breakfast in a giddy daze, and after setting up arrangements to go over the paperwork with Professor Flitwick and giving him a tentative yes to his answer, was finally wandering into work.

The goblins, it turned out, had noticed her absence and had taken the opportunity to pile her desk full of all the nastier bits of paperwork and angry client complaints. She sighed, shifted some of the overflowing parchments from her chair and wished that she hadn't chosen to wear her heels today. There was no chance anyone was going to see them from behind her desk anyhow.

Time passed quickly and Hermione worked on autopilot, mindlessly blasting all confidential files as she tirelessly finished work at a record rate. Her problems had led her to think most of the night about the moments of the Final Battle and she found herself reliving them now with nothing to distract her, certainly not the faceless people's assets she was now handling. Wealth and fortune they would never posses if three teenagers hadn't saved the world for them, she thought angrily. Perhaps working at the bank wouldn't be so bad after all. It could help her get revenge on the side. She decided to check with Professor Flitwick to see if it could be arranged for her to continue working here on the weekends, but her hopes weren't high. The goblins were still shunned even though treated with weary respect after the war. Things Hermione had expected to change were never touched. That was the problem with the conservative ways of the wizarding world, she supposed. Change just didn't occur to them.

She sighed and lifted up the first pile of completed paperwork, intending to drop it off with the collections department before picking up the next tedious workload to go through on her lunch break. Getting to work late really had set her behind. She walked out of the office door and straight into a large, vaguely familiar figure.

~HGHGHGHG~

Harry woke up with a jolt, and once again had absolutely no clue as to where he was. This was getting old, he thought.

"Quick! 'E is awake! Shrieked Gabrielle.

There was a flurry of movement and sound, a light was lit and a door was slammed. Harry clutched at his head and winced. He wished she hadn't done that.

"I am sorry we had to stun you Monsieur Potter," she murmured in a tone that was obviously meant to be soothing "but we 'ad to protect you from zee Aurors. Your ree'putation was on zee line." She shrugged in a staunch French way.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, struggling to sit upright "I was hiding where you told me to! How was stunning necessary at all?"

Here the delicate French girl looked at him with confusion and pity.

"And what are you doing working anyway? You're like…. Twelve! Shouldn't you be in school or something? Where am I? What the HELL is going on?" He snatched for his glasses beside him, missed twice and finally got them lined up on his face. Three faces swam into vision.

"He is in stage three of the side effects now, and they're a doozy, trust me." Bryan grinned and his eyebrows seemed to waggle over his glasses, though Harry supposed that could have been the room trying to right itself once more. "He will experience difficulty in breathing, an insatiable need to speak his mind at all times, irrational mood swings and vision issues."

"Lovely." Harry said, gritting his teeth as a fresh wave of pain assaulted his skull.

"Why were you drinking zis vile 'sing Monsieur Potter?" Gabrielle asked softly.

Harry gritted his teeth and prepared to protest that he really hadn't ingested anything abnormal when the strange little girl at Bryan's side piped up.

"He didn't." She trilled in a high but surprisingly loud voice.

The two older workers rounded on her in surprise.

"Are you sure Missy?" Bryan asked

"Mmmmhmmm! Can I go now? Mum has biscuits freshly made!" she pouted at Gabrielle and Bryan

"Non my petit. We need you in case he tells anymore lies." Gabrielle said, giving her tiny shoulder a squeeze.

"But Gabbie!" she whined.

"What are you talking about?" Harry finally bellowed, clutching at his head as a violent purple light seemed to burst before his eyes. "I haven't drank nothing!"

"Grammar!" Sang Bryan.

"Hang grammar! Tell me what's going on!"

The little girl skipped forward towards Harry, and he struggled to keep his eyes open, suddenly wary. Even in his inebriated state he could feel incredible power coming from her. But she moved deliberately closer, placed her palms on his aching head. Instantly, the pain subsided to a dull whining throb. Harry sighed in relief. Remembering his matters suddenly, he articulated his thanks.

"You're welcome!" she trilled, and now that his head wasn't throbbing he appreciated how melodious it was for one so young. She returned to hanging off of Gabrielle's hand and he refocused his attention on Bryan. As captivating as the little girl was, he was more concerned with cleaning up his supposed dark substance abuse.

"Right then. What you have consumed is something that's relatively new to the black market- in fact, if you don't mind telling me where you got your hands on some later-"

"Bryan!" squawked Gabrielle.

"Sorry, sorry." He retorted unrepentantly with a wave of his hand "But it is fascinating. Anyway, you have had a taste of what is known as 'desidero impios' or on the street as 'The best way to die.' It was discovered by mistake by none other then the master of jokery Mr. Weasley himself, but he banned it when he realized the consequences. How it was leaked to the public isn't exactly known. Only that he was furious when it happened. It is now one of the most elusive potions on the market and one of the most sought after. You're a very lucky man Mr. Potter. But if you keep drinking it, you will become very… unlucky. The potion is addictive in nature and-"

"Wait, you think I'm doing drugs?"

"Erm… drugs?" Bryan paused here, confused by the muggle terminology.

"Never mind. Look, this is nice of you, trying to help my reputation and all, but seriously, I'm fine."

"Zen 'ow can you eexplain zee dark magic sensors?" Gabrielle huffed.

"Obviously there was just a mistake with them, they were calibrated wrong or something."

"The sensors are never wrong." The little girl trilled, hanging off of Gabrielle's hand cheerfully.

"Well, I just can't see-"

"Look, have you been acting out of character lately? Had any funny dreams or felt I don't know happier, lately?"

Harry opened his mouth to say no, but closed it again, thinking. Waking up today he had felt amazing, like luck was on his side. He had to admit ever since Ginny walked out of his life, he hadn't felt very incredible at all. But still, that didn't necessarily mean that he was slipped a dark potion! Though there had been some weird dream about a garden…

"Yeah, so?" he finally settled on, going for defensive rather then outright denial. "Everyone's entitled to feel good every once in a while. And who has dreams that aren't weird?"

Bryan was shaking his head, his annoying little smirk back on his face. Harry was disconcerted by the fact that he couldn't see his eyes through the glare on Bryan's glasses.

"It's more then that Mr. Potter and we both know it."

~HPHPHPHP~

Hermione scrambled to gather her huge pile of paperwork, annoyed that the man would just turn and walk away after knocking her to the ground, especially since she was fairly certain that this was the same man who ran into her the last time. So ticked off in fact, that she decided to take some initiative and with an irritable wave of her wand sent her paperwork flying to the registar office, kicked off her sensible heels and chased him down.

She flew through the corridors, narrowly avoiding goblins on the way, goblins whom were very angry that she had gone against the company policy and used wand magic in the office and just managed to snag the cloak of her mysterious offender before he was whipping around the corner. She cursed and decided if she had gone this far, she might as well go all out. She prepared herself by taking a deep breath, then leaped through the air and tackled the bastard. She closed her arms triumphantly around the stranger's waist and as they tumbled to the ground managed to get a glimpse of pale skin before the man pushed her roughly onto the marble floor and disaperated.

AN: Sorry dearies. A fresh chapter for you with the promise of more to come. Feedback is always welcome. Bryan's street name for the potion is not a direct translation of my butchered Latin, the dark potion's direct translation is something much closer to: wicked desires. Finally, the title is a reference to Marilyn Manson's song of the same name.


	7. Epiphany

Chapter 7- Epiphany

Not J. K. Rowling, I just like to play in her world.

Hermione turned, hair blown out all around her face, breathing heavily, anger and embarrassment warring in her mind. Embarrassment quickly took forefront at the sight of almost 100 goblins gathered in the polished marble foyer each with almost identical expressions of exasperation upon their faces. She glanced down at the wand in her hand guiltily, a wave of shame hitting her as two of the head bankers scurried forward, each holding one of her hastily discarded pumps.

"Perhaps," her boss Murkle said dryly -as she accepted her shoes with whispered thanks, "it would be best if you stepped into my office for a moment."

~HGHGHGHGHG~

Harry sat at his own little table in the cafe, quietly admiring the way that the curtains flashed and glittered as if they were really fabricated out of a piece of the glittering night sky. It had turned out that even the Boy Wonder wasn't more important than serving customers during a lunch rush, so the motley troop had efficiently extricated him to his own table to "keep an eye on 'im." Bryan had solicitously offered him a private booth of his own at the back, away from prying eyes, but Harry had declined, partially out of an idle fear of Bryan's rampant interest in climbing him like a pole, but mostly because he wanted the busy atmosphere to distract him from his own thoughts. Their heated discussion about his consumption of illegal substances had been disrupted rather abruptly by the angry French shouts of the head chef, but Harry's mind was consumed with little else.

Still, Gabrielle had dropped him off a warm steaming bowl of stew and thick, fresh-baked French bread on one of her whirling dances across the restaurant, never seeming to lose her elegant rhythm in the fast-paced melee of hungry witches and wizards. The food had been as good as he'd been promised, even if it had invoked a sharp pain in his heart at the thought of Mrs. Weasley's home cooking and the warmth of the Burrow. The estrangement with Ginny had meant he'd lost his only real home- second only to Hogwarts- and with Christmas upcoming… he determinedly terminated that thought. He and Hermione would just have to do something nice instead. Beginning to plan a happy holiday, his mind was lightened and he was just sopping up the last of his broth with the buttery crust of his amazing bread when a man pulled up to his corner and unceremoniously sat down.

"Harry Potter!" the man exclaimed.

Harry eyed the man wearily, taking in his flushed hollow cheeks and vividly blue eyes before idly examining his impeccable waist coat, perfectly tied cravat, and expensive looking cuff links.

"Yes?" he ventured cautiously, setting aside his now empty soup bowl and plate.

"How've you been?" the man asked genuinely, reaching out to shake Harry's hand vigorously. "I mean, we've all heard what the press says of course, but how are you _really?_"

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name." Harry coolly replied, taking his hand back a little bit more abruptly then was strictly necessary.

"Right, sorry! Roger Crozier at your service!"

"My…service? It's just, no offense but, I can't imagine how you'd be of much help to me, nor I to you."

"I guess I haven't explained myself properly at all, just got excited and- I suppose you're used to this sort of behaviour, yeah?" Roger had flushed pink, and his smile did seem genuinely sheepish, leaving Harry curious and the slightest bit less hostile.

Gabrielle swept by to pick up his dirty dishes, shooting both Harry and the man a curious look, but Harry waved her off confidently. Fan or not, the man seemed mostly harmless.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, and the man brightened up insurmountably.

"Actually, like I said before, it's me who's hoping to be of service to you. I mean, if, if you'd like- Ah bollocks. I'm doing a terrible job of this." Mr. Crozier smiled ruefully, took a deep breath, and began again.

"I'd heard you gave up on your auror training, at least temporarily, and, well, we remembered you from your school days, you see… What I'm trying to get at, Mr. Potter, is that it's quite fortunate, I think, for both of us that I ran into you here today… because I represent The Falmouth Falcons and we were looking for someone to coach our team."

"Really? You want me to coach for you?!"

"I know we're in the bottom of the standings and all- can't believe we're behind the Cannons to be frank- but I think if you-"

"No no! I mean, that's brilliant! I'd love to!" Harry blurted out rashly, excited by the thought of flying, of doing something he loved, and, to be completely honest, of the look in Ginny's face when the news broke and she saw him stepping out into her field of work.

"So you'd be free, say, this Sunday? Meet with the agents, start figuring out where we go for the new season, training, and the like?" Crozier was practically vibrating with excitement.

"I sure would be." Harry's Cheshire grin was almost as wide as Roger's as he reached out to shake the man's hand.

"Oh thank you, Mr. Potter, thank you so much!"

"Call me Harry. Send me an owl with the details later today?"

"Sounds great! Until Sunday Mr.- Harry." And with a tip of his fine hat, the man was bounding out the door, leaving Harry excited and just the slightest bit bemused. Black market potion or not, the day was turning out surprisingly well. Breakfast with Hermione, a date at the Burrow, and now a job. He felt as though he could sing.

Now if he could just figure out the small matter of someone slipping him illegal substances and simultaneously find a way to get Ginny back, he'd really be getting somewhere.


	8. The Best Laid Plans

Anything you recognize is not mine, nor is any profit being made from the writing of this fic.

Chapter 8- The Best Laid Plans

Hermione had taken the forced vacation doled out by the bank less than gracefully. In fact, to call it graceful at all would be a stretch. She had quit on the spot, cleared out her office, and stormed out with her rage visibly pulsating through her –now escaped- hair. She'd known the goblins despised her especially, and who could blame them after the way she, Harry, and Ron had destroyed their beloved bank, but she had thought maybe their mutual grievances could be worked out. It was clear they couldn't (or perhaps wouldn't), even after the hours upon hours of work she had done for them. She'd taken the tenuous position as a goblin liaison in the hopes that her relationship with the goblins would turn into a cordial one, if not an alliance.

Clearly she'd been going about bringing equality to other magical folk the wrong way. All Hermione had gotten from her time at the bank was sneers from both wizards and goblins alike. Leaving, she decided resolutely, was for the best.

She sighed and slowed down, weaving her way through the Christmas frenzied crowds of Diagon Alley, searching for one of those blasted stars. Honestly, whoever had decided at the ministry that pre-approved apparition spots were needed should be fired on the spot. Whoever thought that they should randomly move every three days might as well be imprisoned. The stupid placeholders caused more trouble (and, she thought with a bit of dark glee, more paper work) than they were worth.

But there was a gold gleam now! Doing some quick wand work, she shrunk down her papers, hurriedly stuffing them in her bag, as she made a dash for the now-found spot before it decided to disappear again.

HPHPHPHP~

Harry was ensconced once more in the back room of the Starstruck café, and even though he had been supplied with a cool butterbeer he was finding that the good mood instilled by his job offer was fast deflating. Bryan had been nattering on and on about the illegal potion running through his veins for the last 45 minutes and Harry still wasn't even sure what he was talking about.

"So what do you want me to do? Hole myself up until the potion works its way through my system?" Harry asked wearily when Bryan paused to take a breath.

"What I've been trying to tell you, Mr. Potter, is that none of us even knows if it will wear off. This potion is an outlier. There's nothing like it on the market and it hasn't been around very long. The versions of it on the black market are so expensive because the Ministry has potion's masters under lock and key trying to figure out how it's made and what it does as they monitor every drop that gets out to the best of their ability. We don't know what it will do. We don't know where it came from. At this point, your best bet is going to be getting people you trust on the job, having them try to find out as much as they can about the potion, both inside and outside the Ministry."

"In zee meantime, your energies zey are going crazy. It would be for zee best if you could mask zem, no?" Gabrielle had been pretty quiet throughout, but she stepped in now, looking at Bryan questioningly.

"Gabs is right. If you can mask both your magic and any other signs of the potion being in your system, you should be able to get around just fine, as long as you don't need to go to the bank for anything. The goblins will be able to see right through any disguises. Other really powerful wizards will be able to see that you're hiding something, which is why it's important that you find someone who's able to cast an almost seamless glamour. I can cast a passable one to get you home, but from there it would be better if you could find someone who's able to cast brilliantly."

"Not a problem."

"Are you sure, Mr. Potter? When I say seamless I mean-"

"Not. A. Problem." Harry repeated firmly.

"Okay… well then. Mr. Potter, if you're alright with it, I'd like to keep researching this for you. Not only is it something that I find fascinating, but I already know so you don't have the increased risk of telling someone else." Bryan seemed deadly serious, it was a jarring contrast to how goofy he'd been earlier.

"That's fine, Bryan. I have a few other people I'm going to let know and see if they'll be willing to help, but you know a lot about this. It would be stupid not to have you in on it." Harry reasoned, even though the thought of relying even more on the kindness of virtual strangers weighed heavily on his mind. He wished Hermione were here. She'd know what to do. But he'd be seeing her soon enough, if all things went to plan.

"Okay, well I, uh, think that's everything now. I can preform the glamour now if you'd like."

"That sounds like a good idea."

"Just so we're clear, this glamour, it's not like the type you use to cover up a hickey or something. It's going to mask about half of your magical energy, and because of that it's going to be pretty draining. Combined with the potion in your system, it's probably best if you go home and stay put for a little while after I preform this."

"There's no where else I was looking to go." Harry said pointedly.

"Good, good. Okay." Bryan was rolling up his sleeves, looking slightly nervous now. "Oh and Mr. Potter, do stay in touch." He cast the spell wordlessly, sending Harry flying across the room. He heard the crack of his skull hitting the wall, Gabrielle's startled scream, and felt splitting pain before- nothing.

HGHGHGHGHG~

Hermione's bad mood had not improved in the time it took her to apparate and walk three blocks from the spot the star had dropped her off at. What had happened to the days where you could appear right where you wanted to be from where you were? If these rules had been in place back during wartime there would have been a lot more deaths she thought angrily, pushing her door open with a little more force then was strictly necessary. She needed tea at the very least, she decided, shutting the door behind her and kicking off her high heels.

Moving towards the kitchen at high speed, she didn't see one of the many piles of books in front of her and, in tripping, sent her paperwork from Gringotts flying. Swearing loudly, she stumbled back to her feet and decided that this was ridiculous! She should be able to walk across her own home without having something attempt to attack her! Tea, she reminded herself, stomping out of the room leaving the papers were they lay. She could clean up later.

As the tea was brewing, Hermione paced anxiously. On top of her sudden unemployment and her fruitless research, she couldn't figure out who would be following her. She didn't want to alarm anyone, but now that she'd ran into a strange man in black twice, she felt it might be a matter of safety. She'd floo Harry later, she decided, though she hated the way it made ash fly up her nose and her eyes itchy for days afterward.

The kettle shrieked shrilly, pulling her out of her thoughts with a jolt. As she fixed her tea, her mind went back to the disaster that was her house. She had books lying anywhere, bookshelves full of them, in piles taking up other pieces of furniture, some stacked in corners even. She kept meaning to sort through them and shrink down ones she wasn't likely to use anytime soon, put them into storage in a way that would take up less space. Ideally, Hermione would prefer to have her books on shelves, displayed proudly, but in her current living accommodations there was only so much room for them. Perhaps she would use what was left of her morning and some of her afternoon to sort them before she called Harry.

The combination of tea and a solid day of organization planned, Hermione reclined in her chair and allowed herself to relax a little. She still had a world to fix and employment offers to consider, but all things considered a day off would do her a world of good.

Later, as she was chucking books into her conjured box for the time being, Hermione wondered why she thought organizing would be a stress reliever. Normally, the thought of getting everything in order would be enough to sustain her through the chore, but packing away books made her incredibly nervous. What if she mislabeled something she packed away only to desperately need the knowledge she could no longer find? It made her anxious. So anxious, in fact, she was currently sorting everything by subject matter with the intent of going through each box individually, packing things away from those piles, and immediately labeling each packed away box clearly on the surface as well as making a master list of what was packed where. It was tedious work, but the only way she felt comfortable proceeding.

She was in the process of going through old school books, chucking things like _Hogwarts: A History_ fondly into the keep it but shouldn't need it for a long while yet pile. It was in somewhere in-between her year six texts that a thin, very old book slid out of the pile with a muffled thunk and landed in front of her.

Recognizing the faded book almost instantly, Hermione felt a wave of hatred well up inside of her. The war might have been behind her but the consequences were still there and a lot of them stemmed directly from this book and its giver. She'd spent a lot of time thinking about the way things were handled from the beginningby the infallible Albus Dumbledore and had found herself with a lot of righteous anger left unresolved. But this book, a cute little missive of faerie tales, had almost been the undoing of everything. If it hadn't been for Beedle the Bard showing up they might not have understood the motives of the adults around them, but they also might not have gotten so sidetracked. They could've still won the war, and they might have saved lives! She picked up the book, noticing its frayed binding almost unconsciously, half-tempted to throw it into the fire, like Dumbledore himself should have done with the damned Hallows from the start!

It happened suddenly, as she went to chuck the book into the keep-but-never-reference pile (even in anger, she couldn't, in good conscience, burn a book!). The Hallows. Besting Death. She left her piles and masterlist, absentmindedly walking to the kitchen where she sank down to the table and pulled a piece of parchment towards herself, thunking down the little book beside her as she did some quick rudimentary calculations. It would be a long shot, but there was a chance, and she'd had more ridiculous ideas before. Maybe Dumbledore's infatuation with power could be of use after all, she thought with a grim smile. She set to work writing, for the first time in a while daring to hope that she'd found a solution.


	9. Little Victories

As always, don't own it, don't profit from it.

Chapter 9- Little Victories

Harry woke up, groggy and disoriented, looking around his bedroom curiously. He wasn't sure how he got there and he felt like he had slept for a thousand years. Casting back in his memory as he stretched and felt the satisfying crack of his spine snapping back into place, he recalled waking up at Hermione's and breakfast with fondness, his run in with Luna, the Starstruck Café and the job offer- the Starstruck Café. Brian. Agreeing to have a spell cast on him- then nothing, He leapt out of bed, storming towards his closet angrily in search of clean clothes, deciding he was going to get some answers. It was only as he was wrenching on a pair of jeans that he noticed the note and glass of water on his bedside table. He snatched up the note aggressively and drank the water almost as an afterthought as he read.

"Hello Harry, please don't be mad at us! You had a bad reaction to the spell Brian cast. He figures the potion in your system wants to be seen. I don't really understand it. We moved you back home and put you to bed, I'm not sure how long the effects will last, you could be out up to 48 hours according to Brian. All I know is that even I could feel the magic off of you. Here's hoping you have a good glamour caster in your pocket, you're going to need it! If you need anything, don't hesitate to get in touch. Much love, Gabrielle."

Harry harrumphed unhappily before casting a wandless tempus and discovering he'd only been out about 15 hours. A quick shower, then he'd go pop in on Hermione, he decided, and hope she might have more information about this than the idiots he'd been forced to deal with.

HGHGHGHG

"Hermione! Hermione are you- Woah!"

Hermione sat up wearily, rubbing at the crick that had developed in her back from falling asleep at the kitchen table as she turned towards the doorway. Harry bounded through it, agilely avoiding her still scattered piles of books taking up most of the living room.

"Hello, Harry." Hermione managed a genuine smile for her friend, noticing that the circles under his eyes were pretty much gone and he was wearing his robes- if only casually, open and draped over his much more customary muggle attire- for the first time in weeks.

"I have so much to tell you! But- if you're busy…" his eyes took in her work, the sheets of parchment and books and even a muggle coiled notebook that had now solidly taken over her table and threatened to overflow on to the floor.

"Oh this- this isn't important. At least not yet." She sent him a smile and set to work organizing the papers, clearing a spot for him at the table. "Can I get you some tea?"

"No need for you to make it." Harry said, waving her back into her seat. "Just tell me about what you're working on while I get the kettle started."

She made tea the muggle way, convinced that the magic made it taste funny somehow. She watched him do the same absent-mindedly, noting with amusement that she must have trained him some how along the way. After the war, after finding Kreacher a family of his own –he couldn't stand to look at the House Elf after Dobby- Harry had always just sent the kettle to brewing with a wave of his hand or wand. She wondered when he had adjusted, for he didn't do it just when he was here, she'd notice that he did it in his own house as well. But here he was looking at her expectantly when she was doting on his tea brewing habits!

"Well, my research really isn't at the stage to tell you about yet, but I can tell you about my hell of a day." She volunteered as she gathered up the last page of her notes and tucked them into a neat and orderly pile. She made a point of looking away from it, even though the pile was so tall it drew the eye to it and almost came to the top of her head. If she wasn't more paranoid, Hermione would simply banish it to her room, but she didn't want to risk even a page getting lost. It was her first real breakthrough, after all.

"Or, you could tell me what news sent you crashing through my fireplace shouting at-" she preformed a quick tempus "seven twenty in the morning."

"You first, and I'll make breakfast." The smile he sent her was a firm one as he set about rummaging through her kitchen as though he owned the place.

"Breakfast? Again? Harry Potter you've become simply domestic." She joked. "Are you sure you don't want to go out? It's not like I've got a lot to work with stocked in here…"

Something serious flashed in his eyes and his smile became a little bit bitter as Harry replied quickly with a "No, I'd rather cook." Hermione decided she had better recount her story quickly so she could find out what he had come to tell her. If it was making him concerned about being seen in public, it was probably more serious than she had realized.

Clearing her throat, she set about telling him about the past few days, her apprenticeship offer, her quitting the bank, the strange man in black, everything. The whole time Harry whipped up food in her house, managing to create things she never would've guessed he had the talent or indeed the ingredients for. Ever since they'd come back from camping, he'd declared he would never go without knowing how to cook again. She'd expected he might learn to cook a dish or two, but he had found a home in the kitchen Hermione wouldn't have guessed at from his impatience with potions and the correlation between the two. As he whisked and stirred and filled her kitchen with noise and life, he never missed a beat in appropriate responses to her story. Hermione recalled that he'd always been a good listener.

"So, that's that." She finished lamely, as he moved from briskly whisking something to darting forward and filling her tea mug again in the same movement.

"That's that? Hermione, it sounds like you haven't stopped moving since I last saw you. We'll get it all sorted out though, if you haven't got there already."

"I need to owl Flitwick, but at least I have some sort of a job."

"I envy you. Back at the castle…" There was something in his eyes that made her feel the need to change the topic hastily.

"What about you then? You're looking positively cheerful this morning."

"Hmmmm. By all accounts I shouldn't be. Must be something about you." He said it with a quirk of a smile that said he was joking, but it sent her heart fluttering all the same.

"Must be." She quipped back, standing up and stretching with some satisfaction. She'd slept on worse places than this table but to her back was complaining loudly all the same. "Let me help you with something."

"Actually, that's why I'm here." Harry said softly, slowing in his dance around the kitchen to look at her uncertainly.

"Name it." She did her best to project warmth in her voice and smile.

"It's kind of a long story…"

"When isn't it with you? Alright, what kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time?" she moved forward to the cupboards, pulling him down plates and moving his dirty dishes to the sink. She knew from experience he'd never let her actually touch anything that involved cooking itself, but she could usually get away with clean up.

"Well, for starters… I need a date."

The plates shattered loudly as they came in contact with the tiled floor.

AN: Thank you to the followers, the readers, and the reviewers. Without you, I wouldn't have continued telling this story at all.


	10. Can't Heal You

Chapter 10- Can't Heal You

Harry was there in an instant, barely taking the time to wave a stasis charm over his concoction before he was at her side. Hermione felt like she couldn't look up from the shattered plates, rooted to the spot, her heart pounding. A date?

"I'm sorry" that was her voice she was pretty sure, but she didn't remember consciously beginning to talk. "I must be more tired than I thought." She even managed a weak chuckle. This was good, acting nonchalant was good. He hadn't meant a "date" date. There was no way. No need to get all worked up about it.

"You, tired?" Harry joked, wand now out as he carefully repaired the broken china and sent it flying to the sink. Then he was there beside her, gently tipping her chin up until her gaze met his instead of continuing to look at the tiled floor. She gulped, hoping her pupils weren't too tellingly dilated.

"How hard _have _you been working?" this said with the kind of concern only Harry could give.

"Too hard, I guess."

"Hey, go upstairs, go do whatever you need to do with that paper work, I need 5 more minutes with your breakfast anyhow and then we can come down and we will talk dates, and, well, I still need your help with something so we'll talk about that too. But right now, you go wash your face or whatever it is girls do to feel better, then we'll have breakfast. There will be tea. It'll be good, promise."

Upstairs, she could do that.

She felt like she was on auto-pilot, gathering up her things, crossing the utter disaster that was her living room and wincing almost absently where she noticed her book piles had spilled over in precarious ways. Books were alarmingly close to the fireplace, the windowsills, something would need to be done about it, and soon. But first, she needed to calm down.

Hermione had never really looked at Harry beyond friendship, not really, not while she had been so fascinated with Ron. But, she reflected as she climbed the stairs, even she hadn't been able to ignore Harry's obvious maturity, his determination and his strength. She'd always been attracted to ambition. It had been the lack of it in both Victor and Ron that had ultimately turned her away from them. She knew what she liked and she wanted a partner who did too.

Which was why her attraction to Harry now that he was at his most directionless, as lost as he'd ever been. Well, she'd always been driven to saving people. Maybe it wasn't so surprising after all.

Feeling like she had violently sorted through the contents of her mind, face washed, hair re-secured at the nape of her neck- if no less tangled- Hermione felt ready to go back downstairs and face Harry, find out what he meant by date, find out what help he needed, and hopefully convince him to help her move back to Hogwarts. Maybe she could even get him to consider teaching! It would be a great start for him, give him a chance to re-group before he went to take the Auror test again. She was sure it was just nerves and a rattled mental state that messed him up, not a lack of skill, but he was determined not to go in again nonetheless. Maybe she'd mention both options to him again. And she couldn't imagine living at Hogwarts without him, somehow. Though she was sure she could manage. She'd have her hands full between her own projects and her apprenticing soon enough.

Upon re-entering the kitchen, Hermione was temporarily amazed.

"Where did all of this come from?" she blurted, taking in the two heaping plates situated on her now-pristine kitchen table.

"Your fridge, mostly." Harry said somewhat sheepishly, though his smirk betrayed how proud he was with himself. He put down two fresh mugs of tea before clambouring into her adjacent chair, smiling invitingly as she sat down. She felt unnervingly like a guest in her own home.

"I know I didn't have all of this in my fridge." Hermione replied defensively, "you used up the last of the eggs earlier this week, and I don't think the inside of my crisper has seen fresh veggies for months."

"It may not have all originated in your fridge…" Harry admitted, beginning to shovel omelet into his mouth now that she was seated.

Even though she strongly suspected that he'd spent far too much of both his money and effort on this, Hermione let it slide, preferring to focus her energy on devouring her delectably prepared plate. Harry watched her anxiously for a few more minutes, but when it became clear she'd let it slide he relaxed again and they settled into the comfortable rhythm they shared, content with silence. The familiarity eased Hermione's nerves more than the brief reprieve from the tension had and as she filled up she found herself becoming more hopeful. She had a plan, a new career path, a quest of sorts, and Harry by her side. Well, not Harry exactly she amended, but still, a best friend who finally seemed to be recovering from heartbreak.

"So… we never really did get around to why you showed up this morning." Hermione broached the topic casually, hoping she didn't sound too desperately curious.

"Oh. Umm. Well." Harry paused to chew, suddenly looking anywhere but her eyes. "A lot has happened, actually."

He had begun to push the remainder of his breakfast around on his plate abstractly, hand clenched tight around his fork.

"Good news first, I got a job!"

"Oh Harry that's brilliant!" Hermione exploded, equal parts relieved and excited for him. "What will you be doing? Are you starting right away? When did you get the offer?"

"Well, I _was_ just about to tell you." He said it kindly, with eyes full of laughter, but it still flustered Hermione a little. She was still prone to unnecessary interjections when she got excited and it was still a bit painful to have it thrown back at her.

"I've got a year's contract coaching for The Falmouth Falcons, they're a Quidditch team. I go into negotiations for salaries and players and that kind of thing Friday. I know it's not what I had originally planned and I'm not really helping people but it's something I'm good at, you know?" He finally looked up at Hermione, his eyes pleading with her to understand his position.

"Harry I think it sounds perfect for you! It's only a year so it's not too committed if you do decide to go back to Auror training or whatever else you might do, and it'll give you something completely different to do! The only part I don't like about it is now I can't bully you into going back to Hogwarts with me." She smiled warmly at him, getting up to collect the dishes and take them over to the sink.

"You sound like the agent who approached me."

"Smart agent."

Silence, then "… if you really wanted me to come to Hogwarts with you…"

"Harry I was teasing! I'm happy for you, really!"

"Okay…"

"Harry James Potter I mean it if you give up this opportunity in some strange misguided attempt to help me I swear— "

"Okay Hermione, I get it! But, uhh, I have some not so good news too." Harry took a sharp inhalation of breath, and Hermione returned quickly to the table, suddenly very worried.

"Something else happened the day I got my job offer." Another pause, and then it came out all in a rush, Harry's green eyes purposefully not meeting her own as he turned redder and redder, talking faster and faster.

"I set off some dark magic detectors. It was the day after I came here- you know- and I went into town and there was this new café so I went there for lunch or I tried to and the next thing I know I'm being held in the back by Fleur's little sister Gabrielle and her fellow wait staff and they're telling me I have all the signs of ingesting this black market potion, a relatively new one, know one knows what it does or where you can get it and the Ministry's dying for any information at all on it and it's supposedly impossible to glamour the effects and no one know what or even if it will wear off or if it will just kill me or if it's harmless and everyone is panicking and my magic is being drained by it and finally I just passed out from it all and Bryan said right before I did that if I knew someone with incredible magical strength, someone who's magic is already compatible with my own, I might be able to mask it for an hour or two and that might be enough, at least temporarily, to get me through to my job and that's why I'm here, bothering you, asking for another favour." This finished miserably, with Harry's head almost touching the table in an effort not to meet her eyes. 

"Hang on Harry, just hang on. Of course I'll help you, that's not a problem. But you need to back your story up just a little. You passed out? Magical exhaustion? Black market potions?"

"Pretty much yeah."

"You can't just leave me with that. Harry, I have to know what I'm dealing with before I just blindly walk in to this."

"There's, not a whole lot I can tell you…"

"Just, start with what you know about the potion please? I can't mask it, even if I wanted to, if I don't know what it is."

He brightened immediately, and Hermione began to worry. Did he purposefully take something? Was she enabling him by helping him now? She knew that there were serious ramifications here. And if he had begun to use, it would explain the sudden rebound, his seeming increase in power, and he had already shown an inclination for substance abuse if his frequent drunken bouts were anything to go by. She didn't know much about addictions counciling, but she worried she was doing something terribly wrong here. Her thoughts were racing so fast she almost missed the next part of what he was saying.

"Brian called the potion 'desidero impios'."

Hermione almost burst out laughing. She supposed she shouldn't have been so surprised. This was the boy who'd sent her on a goose chase that ended with the Philosopher's Stone in her first year, had her petrified in the pursuit of knowledge trying to find the mythical Chamber of Secrets, and whom had finally ended their adventures on a quest for the Deathly Hallows, objects that were supposed to be no more than figments of a fairy tale. Still, it seemed incredible, ridiculous even, that Harry could've ingested a potion so rare it had skeptics and scientists alike claiming the potion couldn't be more than an urban legend. She wouldn't even know where to begin to research it, let alone mask it as Harry seemed to be suggesting she could. He'd been staring at her with a blend of hopefulness and trepidation while she mulled it over, and she was reminded forcibly of a younger Harry and Ron begging for homework help at the last minute. This project even also included a near-impossible deadline. 48 hours to figure out how to mask a mythical potion. Not to mention letters to send off, both for her apprenticeship and for her new independent project. She hoped some of the research she was now facing would overlap or she'd never be able to sleep again.

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll try to help. But I can't promise anything, Harry. When people say there's next to nothing known about this potion they're not joking. There's literally no information about it out there. You'd probably be better off asking some contacts at the Ministry."

"I don't trust them. I trust you." Harry said simply, and she had to physically force herself to breathe.

"Can I ask you something though?" she found herself saying the words before she had fully thought them through.

"Sure, fire away."

"What does this has to do with a date?"

Harry literally flopped back in his chair as he laughed and she steadfastly tried, and failed, to refrain from turning pink.

"Oh that. I have another favour to ask you, actually. I hope I didn't scare you too bad. It's just, I ran into Luna the same day."

"And how is she?" Hermione carefully maintained a neutral tone, squashing down the little seeds of jealousy that bloomed whenever she thought of how genuinely happy Ron and Luna seemed to be.

"She's really good, radiant really. The new work seems to be suiting her. She invited us down to the Burrow. For a Christmas thing. I said I'd go, but I can't go alone. I can't face Gin alone. I was hoping you might be my date, seeing as they're kind of your family too?" He was sheepish now, he knew how much he was asking of her.

"Harry James Potter."

"If you don't want to go that's alright too, 'Mione. I just, I don't think I'm ready yet to walk into that household alone. I might need someone to hold me back if Malfoy is there. I'm trying to be mature. I don't want to be cut off from them anymore." She thought of how the Weasleys had been the family Harry had never had, and how many bridges he'd burned with his recent behavior, and how this might be his only chance. And finally, slowly, she nodded, trying not to feel too terribly crushed about it all. Christmas with the exes. It had a bad sit-com written all over it.

AN: As always, thank you for reading. Title is a reference to a Five Finger Death Punch song of the same name.


	11. Adrenal Vapour

Chapter 11- Adrenal Vapour

AN: One of these days I'll update regularly. Instead of sporadically. As always, don't own it, not making money off of it. The title of this chapter comes from the Portal 2 soundtrack, one of my favourite albums of music to write to. s

Hermione had three hours until Harry came barreling through her door, anxious for a cure to all of his problems, and she was still struggling with getting the spell to stick without constant maintenance from the caster. Anything less than full magical concentration caused the glamour to dissipate instantly, which was the last thing Harry needed to have happen in a room full of dark magic detectors— something he'd likely have to go through at least once during the meeting. If there was one way in which the muggle world was similar to the wizarding community, it was in that they took the imbibing of illegal substances in their athletes very seriously. The glamour couldn't fail, not even a little bit, not even for a second. This meant she needed to find a way to either concentrate Harry's magic and get him to maintain the spell on his own (unlikely at the best of times, she remembered his attempts at occulmency, and even less likely when his magic was volatile from the potion) or she would need to find a way to funnel her magic onto him. She was hoping at this point she could maintain the spell long-distance but she was unsure about the degree of magical backlash she or Harry could potentially experience.

She reminded herself that she'd done a great job to get this far with this big of a challenge in this little of time. Hermione was running off snatches of sleep, stolen here or there when she was waiting for replies or books or Harry to wake up. He had essentially not left her house, something she was sure the tabloids had noticed by now, and she'd had to forcibly send him back to his own place to sleep last night, more for her own piece of mind than anything.

She'd had nothing to go off of and even less idea of where to start when she'd tackled this. Hermione had always been stronger with spells than potions, and to attempt to counter either you had to understand them at a fundamental level. So, she'd started with the empirical method, noting any and all changes she could find in Harry while she'd sent off discrete letters to every contact she might have had that she could trust to keep circumspect about the fact that she was looking. It was nigh illegal to even mention the potion, that's how desperate the ministry was to keep this under wraps. Thinking she might not get any responses at all, she'd been determined to at least gather a list of traits to go off of in Harry's particular case so she might be able to find potions that at least acted similarly and begin to study those. He hadn't requested a cure, just a way to conceal the effects of the potion, but she'd planned on gathering evidence for both.

As she'd poked and prodded, waiting for results as to how the potion was reacting on all kinds of physical levels, Hermione had sent Harry's house elves out whenever possible to gather information. She had been loathe to use them in such a way, but Harry had reasoned with her, pointing out that they were her best shot of getting unbiased information as they had a whole underground of other elves to gather from as well as being able to follow sources invisibly on the off chance that they'd find a lead. She hadn't heard anything back yet, however, and she was starting to get worried that one of them would be injured. They'd sent Kreacher to do the spying on the Ministry, something the elf seemed to revel in, and Harry's two newer elves, Mia and May, who'd showed up on his doorstep shortly after the war, looking to serve in honor of "Sir Dobby", were given the more innocuous tasks of asking the other elves they knew. Hermione had also had Harry send off letters to Brian and the Weasley twins, adding their hastily written, and carefully warded letters to the pile of information in her journal as soon as they had arrived. She'd hoped for knowledge of distributors of the potion, something that neither of them had divulged, although the twins had been glad to share their gossip, which seemed to verify some of the behaviours she and Harry had already identified in himself.

In the little bit of time she could scrounge for herself admist all of this, she'd sent correspondence to Flitwick regarding her apprenticeship and was now awaiting the official modified contract to arrive. All in all, Hermione felt very accomplished, even if her own plans had taken the back burner for a bit. She thanked the powers that be that she was the type to flourish under pressure.

Still, jumping in blind with both feet when it came to the actual potion itself was not Hermione's preffered method of research, but she'd countered the chaos as best as she could by making her methodology as methodical and meticulate as she could. If nothing else, she could patent this style of glamour when all was said and done and maybe make herself a little cash on the side, she reflected ruefully. It was the kind of glamour that could have been devastating during the war, a spell that could be modified to mask whatever element was keyed into it. She'd yet to try it on physical features, though she was longing to do so to see if it could cover up the scars that liberally marred her torso. The inspiration for the spell had come, oddly enough, from the childhood library she'd visited in hopes of finding a starting place for her other research. The glamour Dumbledore had placed there had sealed off the room entirely, which was simple enough, but it had not simply masked it as some disused room as other muggle deterring spells often did. Instead, to people who were not keyed to the glamour, the room ceased to exist entirely. They wouldn't bounce off of invisible walls, they would pass through to the other side, only there was no wall for them to see, they just crossed what they viewed to be open space. It was very unnerving to Hermione, ever since she was a child, and she supposed that Dumbledore's casting had likely been warding instead of just spell work as it remained even after he passed, but it had served as a good idea for the kind of thing she wanted to do, and had given her the place to start looking when she'd began finally experimenting with the glamour. Still, it had frustrated her, made her feel like she'd missed some fundamental element of education, to not know how his spell worked. If she'd been taught why certain spells dissipated while some stayed virtually forever, she wouldn't currently be fighting with her own fickle invention and she'd feel a lot safer casting it on Harry. She decided it would have to be one of the first things she asked Flitwick about once she was officially signed on for her apprenticeship.

What she had been able to find from books told her that the key to creating a new spell was intent. The difference between modification and creation was also important and while she knew much of modification from her transfiguration lessons, there had been nowhere in the curriculum that had covered creation. She recalled the spells Snape had created, recorded in his sixth year Potions book and wondered if it had been taught to him at school or if he was simply an outlier with more obscure sources than her own. Shaking her head she reminded herself to stay in the present and get back to the most pertinent problem, her hand snapping back into visible existence as she released the spell clinging to her skin. She'd only felt magic stick like that when she'd been disillusioned she realized, wondering if the spells had more in common than she'd found before.

She dived for her books, doing quick index searches until she found the disillusionment spell. Reading frantically, her heart sped up as she skimmed down the passages, trying to find the key she'd been missing. Harry bounded in the door right as she slammed her finger down on the key passage, the piece she'd over-looked.

"Magical compatibility is not required for a spell of this magnitude as it seeks only to muffle the person or object covered, not vanish it entirely." She muttered aloud, waving Harry into a chair with a shushing gesture as she scrambled for her arithmancy notes. It had worked on her skin, even though Hermione had keyed it to cover up dark signatures, because she'd simply also focused on making her hand invisible. If it was as simple as her texts seemed to imply, she'd only have to start on a small area and gently expand the spell, then the magical signature would be cut off. Like the disslusionment spell, which started in an isolated area, then spread to cover the rest of the body. Hers of course, would need to have a bit more focus than the other spell, as she was masking a magical signature, but the principle should be the same. It required a few more tests of course, but Harry had given her a 47 minute window before he had to be at the Ministry's office to take his official portkey and she was going to take the time given; make him rush just a little.

She glanced up at her best friend turned test subject then, noting that he was practically vibrating with nervous energy. His normally out-of-control hairstyle had evolved into a truly terrifying level of fluffiness, his glasses were askew, but he had managed to dress in marginally nice clothing and he hadn't put anything on inside out so far as she could tell.

"How're you doing?" he blurted, taking her appraisal of him to mean she was done thinking. She barely had time for an exasperated look before more words were tumbling out of his mouth, almost as if they were coming up faster than he could stop them. "Did it work? Have you found a way to make it stick? Have you gotten any sleep at all? I'm sorry Hermione, if it was too big a task, I just, you were my best hope. I didn't mean for you to run yourself to the ground like this. I should've never tried. I-"

"Harry." It came out sharper than she intended but it seemed to bring him to heel well enough. "I know you're not at your most patient right now, but I've literally only seconds ago found the key to this. I need to think for a moment, then I'm going to run some tests. If- and only if- they work, then yes, we will be in the clear."

Harry's face broke into a smile before she'd even finished speaking and she wondered if he'd heard her at all.

"I knew you'd have it figured out." He practically chirped happily, previous worries forgotten instantly.

"We'll save the lecture on how I'm nothing short of a miracle worker for another time." She replied wryly, moving out of her carefully cultivated circle to stand before him, making a mental note to add yet another note about mood swings to Harry's symptoms chart.

"There are three tests." She said brusquely, taking ahold of his hand, barely managing not to flinch when a little spark bubbled up in her as their skin made contact. Maybe it had simply been her increased contact with dark magic over the past 48 hours, but Harry's hand felt as though it was consumed with it. She quietly resolved to double her efforts for a counter of some kind to this potion immediately, before the magic consumed him entirely. She wondered if her spell could even cover this magnitude of darkness. He felt… positively dangerous, and a tiny bit exciting if she was telling the full truth. Cutting off those thoughts as ruthlessly as she had the last ones, she drew her wand out of its current residence in her bushy-haired bun and began to cast the spell for the first diagnostic.

"The first spell will just be me casting on a part of your hand, to see if the magic will even stick at all. There could be an extreme magical backlash, let me know if anything feels… odd" Hermione warned, a second before she began the incantation carefully on Harry's right pinky finger.

There was the faintest shimmer of gold, and then the spell vanished completely, just as it had on her own skin. Breathing deeply, Hermione pulled at the spell, gently feeding it magic, smiling in delight when she made the pinky vanish completely, holding Harry's hand firmly in place when he jumped and shouted uneasily at the sight.

"Don't worry, that was me, it's still attached." She said, grinning goofily as she willed his finger back into existence. It appeared without even the slightest of noises, and she set to work, running her fingers back and forth between the rest of his hand and the pinky finger, amazed when she could physically feel what was seemingly a drop off in dark energy when she reached the point of her own magic.

"Erm… Hermione? Is it working?" Harry inquired anxiously, causing her to crick her neck and almost crack the top of her head into his jaw she moved so fast.

"So far, it's perfect!" she breathed back in delight, fingers still absentmindedly trailing between the drop off point, amazed at the tactile difference between the dark and absence of it. She dropped his hand hastily upon recognizing it, putting her wand right against where she'd already cast and without repeating the incantation, slowly funneled more magic into the spell, causing it to spread fairly rapidly through his entire hand before she cut it off. She could've cheered at this point, amazed that the theory had needed such little tweaking. She was sure, now that she knew it worked, that if needed she could cast it as seamlessly as a disillusionment spell if she needed to cover the entire surface of a person, but being able to cut it off as she saw fit would definitely have its advantages as well.

Gathering up the vile from the table beside Harry, she placed her wand against his skin before remembering to warn him "I'm drawing a bit of blood, I need to make sure the spell covers more than just the surface" she explained, making a neat and tiny incision, capturing a trickle of blood, and sealing his hand back up almost instantaneously.

She began sending a flurry of spells at the vial while Harry examined the place she'd cut. "Nice." He commented when he realized there was literally no sign of what had occurred only seconds beforehand.

"I got handy with healing spells, remember?" she replied with a soft glance in his direction, seeing the way his eyes got darker at the mention of their past exploits.

"Yeah I guess a lot of people did." He said hollowly, rubbing his hand subconsciously.

"Well, the good news is, you've passed this test too!" Hermione said, hastily changing the topic as she banished the vial of blood to the kitchen. She'd make more detailed notes later, once she'd got Harry on his way.

"One left, but I'd like to recast the spell so it's covering you entirely first, if that's alright with you?" she asked perfunctorily, already picking up her wand to cast.

"Sure, of course." He replied, staring at her unblinkingly as she rose to her feet, cancelling the previous spell with hardly a thought before she aimed at his scar, thinking it would be as good a place as any to start. Another wand flick and incantation later, and she could feel the magic rushing out of her, swirling gold as it settled, effortlessly covering Harry from head to toe. A quick updrawn movement of her wand and the spell finished, disappearing from his skin as though it had never been. Another diagnostic confirmed what she already knew, it had worked perfectly, Harry's magic registering as 100% normal and nonthreatening.

"Alright, I need you to apparate for me now." She said, showing him to the door. "Hopefully there's an apparition star not too far from here. Go only a short distance and then come straight back, okay? I need to see if the spell holds."

"Sure thing, Hermione!" Harry was grinning ear to ear as he bounded out the door. She watched him get a block away before he turned, disappearing with the slightest of cracks. One of the things he'd learned in auror training that actually managed to stick was a near soundless apparition routine, one she'd envied only slightly.

The minutes began to tick by, but Hermione was afraid to move from the doorframe, sure that even as odd as it looked with her standing there, he would be back any second now. She shoved down panic, waiting motionless, trying to keep her brain from counting but it was no use. She'd just passed 180-181-182- when he rounded the corner, sauntering nonchalantly from the other direction. The damned apparition stars never made anything easy, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he reached her doorway again with ease, practically dragging him in behind her, her wand raised as the door latched into place.

He stared at her uncertainly as she cast again, then again, slightly disbelieving. It had worked perfectly. She'd masked the spell. Finally lowering her wand she gave him a broad smile, opening her mouth to declare he read completely clean, but before she could speak he was scooping her into his arms, pulling her up off of the ground, twirling her around as he let out a single loud whoop of victory.

"You are the smartest most glorious woman I've ever met." Harry exclaimed, setting her down much more gently than he had picked her up.

"You might want to save some of that praise for when I find an antidote, but for now, gorgeous amazing lifesaver or goddess will do just fine." She said, grinning almost as widely as he was.

"Hermione, you're working on that?! You're the best friend I could have ever possibly had, you know that right?"

"I know, I know." She said, suddenly feeling a bit bashful, "Now get out of here, you wouldn't want to be late after all of this."

Harry didn't have far to go before he reached the door again, but she was suddenly incredibly worried about the time. Long-distance portkeys were extremely tiresome to organize, and if he didn't catch this one it might be days before another one could be arranged. Her thoughts scattered once more as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her absentmindedly on top of her curly head.

"I'll let you know how it goes. Now get some sleep!" he chided, moving with such a spring in his step Hermione almost wouldn't have been surprised if he'd spontaneously started a dance routine. She waved back when he waved before carefully shutting the door, telling herself she must have imagined the flash of gold she'd seen in his eyes when he'd pulled away from the kiss.


	12. Still Counting

Chapter 12- Still Counting

AN: Hi again! Just a reminder that I don't own any part of the Harry Potter universe, as much as I wish I did. The title is a reference to the Volbeat song of the same name.

While Hermione collapsed into an exhausted heap- finally making it to an actual bed- Harry had arrived in London. He felt as though he might end up vibrating out of his skin he was so full of energy. He kept finding himself tracing back over his skin as he walked, amazed that he couldn't feel a trace of the magic Hermione had put on him, especially when he'd felt it stick almost like a gluey residue when she first preformed it. It felt unnatural, like he could still be caught out at any time. But, if there was anyone's spell work he trusted, it was Hermione's. He had more faith in the sky falling than her spell failing.

He had been moving so fast down the street that he actually passed the visitor entrance to the Ministry, and doubled back in an embarrassed fashion, almost tripping over a few people along the way. Harry slid into the phone booth, trying to soothe his anxieties and also quash the sudden images of Clark Kent that sprang into his head. His hero days were over after all, Super Harry was no more just as surely as Voldemort was gone. He pressed the buttons a little more forcibly than was recommended, barely listening to the automated voice rattling off information as he began his descent into the bowels of the ministry.

Still, he had to admit that physically he felt on top of the world, better than he had since, well, since the morning he'd woken up at Hermione's that had started all of the ensuing chaos. As the gates opened with a chime and he stepped smoothly onto the polished floors, it took him no time at all to find the witch waiting for him. Harry flashed a calculated smile at her and tried not to smirk when she immediately flushed to the roots of her hair and almost lost her footing. He might be done with the hero scene, but he wasn't done being a celebrity and sometimes it was just nice to remind himself of it.

Robes and clipboard now straightened and blush under control, the witch cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to her.

"If you'd like to follow me this way, Mr. Potter?" she asked, her voice much lower and smoother than he'd expected.

"Certainly," he replied smoothly, falling into step behind her, pleased when he noticed that she was still a little pink by her ears and neck.

"I'm sorry," he said as they expertly waded through the crush of people trying to get to their destinations on a Friday morning "I don't believe I caught your name."

"That's because I didn't give it to you." She said in very clipped tones as they reached a lift on the other side of the hall.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before trying again "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to come off—well, the way I probably am." He sent her a self-depreciating smile. "I suppose you wouldn't forgive me if I blamed it on the nerves?"

Her expression softened slightly even if her lockstep pace didn't and they passed the rest of the brief journey up the lift in silence before the doors opened with an annoying bing and Harry found himself almost running to keep up with the tiny woman as she shot off down the adjacent hall. He wondered at her speed with a twinge of annoyance before almost running her over as she abruptly came to a halt outside of a cluttered office.

"Here we are, the department of International Travel. Is there anything else I could do for you Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, actually." He said quickly, watching the smile slide off her face once more in his response to what he knew was a perfunctory question.

"Mr. Potter-" she began warningly, causing him to scramble over his words in a hurry.

"No no, I'm not going to ask for a date or anything like it, I'm really sorry." He blurted, running his hand through the back of his hair in an embarrassed fashion. "I was actually wondering if you could set me up a meeting with Kingsley for sometime next week? I know he's really very busy, and I know you probably are too, but if you could try it would mean a lot to me."

"I, I can try." She stumbled, looking more than a little surprised. "Though you might get more of a response with a personal owl. You are Harry Potter after all."

"No, no, I'd rather…. If you could pass on a message for me it would be great, thank you." He said, smiling brightly at the girl. "Suppose I better get going then!"

"I suppose you should" she said, turning once more to her clipboard, using her wand to move some notations of some kind on the pages there.

"Right." He said more to himself than anything else, turning away and moving to the head desk, hoping his portkey was still waiting for him.

"Oh and Mr. Potter?" he whipped around to look at the brunette, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. "It's Melina. My name, that is."

HGHGHGHG~

Hermione woke a full ten hours later, feeling very well rested if slightly disconcerted from the length of time that had passed. Her stomach decided for her that no more could be done on her lengthy to-do list before she took care of some of her other bodily needs she'd essentially neglected in her mad dash to take care of Harry, and being that it was close to supper time for regular people too, she decided to bundle up in her warmest coat, tug some boots on over the three-day old jeans she'd worn to bed, and threading her wand through her hair to secure it up on top of her head where it would look slightly less disastrous, marched out the door in search of filling and flavourful food. With both that goal and a desire to walk as short a distance as possible—she wasn't feeling much like using her magic to apparate at the moment, nap aside—she ended up settling in one of the local Indian restaurants that was about three blocks from her home, taking in both the warmth and scent of spices gratefully as she stepped inside.

She realized then that she hadn't even stopped to see if there had been word from Harry before she left, and waffled for a moment trying to decide if she should order her meal to go so she could check or if she should stay as she had originally intended. This left her wondering if she should pick up enough for two and just pop over and check on him, but then she remembered the general state of appearance and decided that dinner for one would be for the best and if Harry hadn't yet contacted her that she'd check in sometime tomorrow between her trips to the castle.

She needed to go over with the contract with Filius in person, then head to Diagon Alley and officially terminate her employment with Gringotts, then hopefully head back to the castle to be sworn in as an apprentice, then head back to her flat and contract her landlord to let him know she wouldn't be renewing her lease in the new year. As much as Hermione loved her little house there was no use looking after it when she'd be required to live at the castle for the duration of her apprenticeship and when her salary was about to be drastically reduced from the career shift. Putting it up on the market was the logical decision. And she had always excelled at logical decisions. Moving up in line and placing her order calmly with the cashier, she allowed her thoughts to wander a little bit, drifting naturally toward Christmas and Harry's invitation.

Hermione had tried not to dwell on it while she was busy saving his life, but she'd managed to come to the conclusion that he would probably go anyhow even if she didn't come with him and that at least with her chaperoning she might be able to keep him from getting completely smashed and shooting his mouth off to what used to be his family. She knew it would be a painful experience for both of them, but she figured she owed it to the Weasleys, especially considering the way they'd practically disappeared off of the map after the breakup. She should have been a better friend she realized belatedly with a stab of sadness. She couldn't remember the last time she'd just had a chat with Ginny or with Fred, who she knew was having a particularly hard time since his brother's passing. These people had been her secondary family too and they'd all still been grieving. They had needed her. It was time to see if she could go about repairing the damage, for both her and Harry if she was lucky. She noticed her eyes had begun to water and quickly dashed at them before the tears could threaten to spill down her face just as a kindly but harried looking muggle called out "33!" her number. She hurried forward to collect it and with a murmured face set out back into the snow, pulling out the naan bread absentmindedly and beginning to nibble on it as she set off back home, lost to her thoughts once more.

HPHPHPHP~

Harry felt like the walk through the multiple security sensors was almost the most stressful thing he had done in his life. He had infiltrated the ministry twice, almost been expelled from the wizarding world at a fixed trial, raced against time itself to save his godfather, destroyed Horocruxes, and faced Voldemort himself multiple times, but this seemed different somehow. He chalked it up to the knowledge that it wasn't his own magic he was relying on to stay safe, that he had literally no control over whether or not the spells would hold. He sent a silent word of thanks to Hermione every time he passed another test, making it seamlessly through the secrecy sensors, the dark magic detectors, and even the blood testing. Now he was preparing for something he wasn't sure the spell would stand up to, as it wasn't something he even knew existed. He'd heard rumors right before he'd left auror training of a new spell designed of this magnitude, a spell that could bring forth a wizard or witch's entire magical signature, unmasked by any disguises, the perfect tracking device for criminals, but he hadn't been aware that it had even left the testing stages in the department. It seemed odd that the International Quidditch Federation would have it before the ministry did, but he was out of country after all. He shrugged it off and prepared for the spell to be cast.

A tingling, stretching sensation passed over him, like there was something pulling at his skin and making all the hair on it stand up at the same time, and then it had passed, an invisible wind ruffling his hair and leaving him very unnerved. The bored security wizard merely glanced at the readings before waving him inside the glass-frosted doors. He was through. He said a quick word of thanks to the man who merely grunted, still wiggling some figures that made no sense to Harry onto a puce coloured sheet with his wand. If he wouldn't have been so relieved he might have noticed that the man duplicated and quietly pocketed some of the papers as he stepped into the room.

As it was, he was immediately clasped about the shoulders and pulled into the arms of a ruddy man the moment the doors slid smoothly shut behind him.

"Harry, mah boy!" a rumbling voice coming somewhere from above his head boomed boisterously "so glad you could make it! Sit down, sit down!"

He was physically maneuvered into a chair by the same character, where he was able to make out the faces of the group gathered around the long oblong table, mostly male, and –thankfully—mostly smiling. He mustered the energy up for a tiny smile back at them, noting that the young man at the end of the table didn't smile back and glowered darkly instead. Slightly hurt but also curious, Harry turned his attention back to the big man now seated directly at his right elbow.

"I'm sorry if my co-worker was a bit forward with you Mr. Potter, it's just, well none of us were sure that you would actually turn up. It seems a bit miraculous actually. I mean, with your level of fame…." The little man at the head of the table spoke up almost instantly, the awe in his eyes making Harry slightly uncomfortable.

"After the Tri-Wizard tournament with that dragon, well, it's not only the services to the world that you are remembered for." Chimed in one of the only females, a fierce looking creature with hair almost as red as Ginny's. Harry fought down a pang of grief and focused his attention back at the group staring at him openly.

"Right, well." He smiled lamely. "I'm here. I understand you have some questions for me?"

"Too right you are." The big man chuckled again, looking at him with a kind of familiarity that was beginning to rub Harry the wrong way. "I'm Russ, this is Gibbons" a gesture at the man in glasses "and the rest of the team who work to keep our little Quidditch franchise off the ground. You've got yer financial backers, agents, everyone, and I think I can say with confidence that we're all ecstatic at the thought of you joining us, Harry. Kind of a dream for us and an amazing opportunity for our boys." Another unerring smile from the drones.

"If someone could get Mr. Potter his package and then we could start negotiations?" the redhead called. Someone waved their wand and a sheaf of parchments landed in front of Harry. Negotiations? He was starting to think he should have brought Hermione in with him. Gibbons must have caught his look of alarm for he said soothingly,

"Nothing to worry about, Mr. Potter. Just some formalities we need to go over before we can sign you to the table. It's covering both you and us in the case of any…. conflicts of interest. If you would open your booklet there you'll find expected start times, wages, vacation, your travel expenses, etc. It's all very basic, but it does need to be talked about for the record, and then once you sign, you're all good to go."

Harry sighed and flipped open the file. He felt like he had a long day ahead of him.


	13. Tiptoe

Chapter 13- Tiptoe

AN: As always, I don't own any of the characters or settings, I just like to play with them. The chapter title is a reference to the song Tiptoe by Goldfrappe. And now, on with the story!

HGHGHG~

For Hermione, the last 48 hours had positively flown by as she'd rushed around getting things done. She'd been sworn in by an austere group of academics only last night and had spent the rest of the time apparating here and there trying to be set up in the castle as fastidiously as possible. There, it was impossible to forget that Christmas was just around the corner as the school's inhabitants had plastered the place with decorations and twinkling lights, and she'd thought privately that it would've made Dumbledore quite happy to see the newly fixed up school so cheery and festive. Personally it just made her sneeze from the over-abundance of cloying pine scent and panic about the upcoming Weasley visit. She was feeling particularly magically and mentally exhausted this Friday morning and had decided that there was no point in going to the Great Hall to obtain breakfast when she had a perfectly functioning, if tiny, stove in her quarters. Her tea was steeping and she had just settled comfortably into one of the comfy armchairs that she had insisted on bringing from her flat when there was an instant rapping at her door.

Wondering who on earth could be coming to talk to her when most of the castle's residents didn't even know she was here, she crossed cautiously to the front door with her wand drawn, wishing she had at least changed out of her slippers and robe this morning.

"Who's there?" she called suspiciously, knowing her newly erected wards were perfunctory at best and that they wouldn't protect her from dark magic like the ones she'd drawn up at her own place.

"Miss Hermione!" called a young female voice back breathlessly "It's Eva, Eva Rothtide! I don't suppose you would remember me, I was a few years behind you but that's not the point, the Headmistress sent me to come get you right away, says there's something you need to see her for in her quarters?"

Hermione had opened the door cautiously at this, and finding nothing too inherently distrustful about the pretty girl peering at her curiously, stepped aside to let her in.

"Did she say there was any reason she couldn't have just flooed me to pass on this message?" she asked the girl imperiously, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her wand against the outermost forearm where scars from Bellatrix Lestrange's attack were still visible, running in jagged lines down from where her sleeve had rode up. She tried not to grimace at the sight of them.

The girl looked genuinely confused at this and glanced around at the place as if hoping an answer would appear amidst the décor. Hermione noted the Ravenclaw badge with some amusement and gesturing the girl into her recently abandoned armchair, bid the girl wait while she got changed. She casually cast silent restricting wards that would prevent the girl from touching anything and swept into her bedroom to get dressed for a meeting with whoever was summoning her, Minerva if the girl was telling the truth, or a potential ambush if she was not.

She knew perhaps she was being paranoid, but the war still loomed in her subconscious as a daily reminder of what it cost to trust people. She quickly shrugged into a loose sweater and slacks, adding her cleanest robes overtop manually instead of the way she normally would with her magic. Deciding to forgo the wand sheath she customarily used, she slid her secondary wand into the bun she'd swept her hair up into earlier that day, and swapping out her slippers for low but sensible shoes, she was ready for either outcome, presentable but able to run and fight if the situation called for it. Her main wand, which few knew she possessed, was where it always was, tucked into the left sleeve of her robes. She was back in front of the Ravenclaw girl in just over two minutes, asking her to lead her to Minerva. The girl was clearly nervous, and Hermione almost felt guilty for the trouble she pad put her through, but brushed it aside by assuring her conscience that if it turned out to be a genuine reason she could always apologize to the girl afterward.

They took off at a brisk pace, heading, not towards Minerva's office but towards the Great Hall. Hermione tightened her jaw slightly as they descended staircase after staircase, refusing to let her guard down for even a second. The students were scheduled to leave tomorrow and the hallways were fairly empty, but there was still much more noise than Hermione was used to and she wasn't sure how to catalogue it. The battle had been utter cacophony, sensory overload that she had pushed down until she could hear nothing at all. Then there was the silence for days, for weeks afterwards, while everyone retreated, where everyone held onto their family and where she drifted, alone. She'd pushed herself further into silence, clung to it, and made it a home. Now she was trying to find a place in amidst a castle that never really slept, that was always full of people, and that always made her feel on guard. The girl, Eva, Hermione was pretty sure she'd said, had stopped at the top of the grand staircase that led to the main doors and as Hermione rounded the corner she instantly saw why. The entire foyer was filled with flowers.

"Ahh, Miss Granger, you've finally joined us!" Professor McGonagall called, her voice ringing clearly throughout the hall despite her slightly harrowed appearance. "Miss Rothtide you may take your leave." The girl nodded quietly and took off back up the stairs at almost twice the pace she'd descended them before, clearly relieved to get away from Hermione. Hermione felt a tiny pang of hurt at that but shelved it for later. She would make it up to the girl as soon as she could, right now she was facing a very exasperated Headmistress who was moving toward her at a rapid pace, the tip of her pointed hat and steely look serving as markers as she crossed the overflowing floor.

"Do you need help vanishing these, Headmistress?" Hermione asked briskly, pulling her wand out of her bun confidently.

"Oh heavens no, that's how we ended up with a hall full of them in the first place!" Minerva exclaimed, still making her way to where Hermione stood on the bottom-most step. "What we need, or so I'm told, is a signature from you on this piece of paper saying you received them. When we tried to spell them to make sure there was no dark energy they began rapidly multiplying and when we tried to vanish them, they exploded into—this!" She had reached Hermione now, Professor Flitwick at her side.

"Does it say who they're from?"

"All it says is: 'good luck!'" Flitwick said, holding the paper up so she could take ahold of it.

Hermione was flushed with embarrassment and more than a little confused. The last thing she'd wanted to do upon arriving here was stir up attention of any kind. She took the paper and saw that it was a spell-generated handwriting, that there would be no clues in the message itself. Hesitantly, she tapped the paper where a line was next to her printed name with her wand and watched as the letters faded away. They were replaced with a thank you message from a flower courier with a name that was entirely unfamiliar to her. She looked up bemusedly at her still frowning soon to be mentors and was astonished as the flowers began vanishing leaving only a trail of pink petals scattered over the cobblestones, all leading into an inward spiral pattern with the most stunning flower arrangement she'd ever seen. She stepped around the Professors as if she was in a daze, walking assuredly towards it.

As soon as she got close enough to touch it, the shimmering bubble that had most likely been protecting the arrangement melted away, releasing the exotic scent of the flowers in a dizzyingly sweet way. The arrangement was made up of deep purple stargazers, white crisp lilies, orange hot house tulips, little pink and orange button flowers, and what Hermione was pretty sure were a few mint sprigs. It wasn't the kind of arrangement someone would pick out for a generic date and she found herself touched by the individuality of it.

She made her apologies known to both McGonagall, who was still looking quite stern, and Flitwick, who was looking rather amused, and after she insisted that she didn't know who they were from, scooped up the admittedly heavy arrangement and headed back to her rooms, hoping she could do some serious investigative charms on both the bouquet and the note she still clutched in her hand. It was only as she was walking up the stairs that she noticed the vividly purple little potion vial nestled carefully underneath the largest lily. Hair standing up on her arms, she tried to look unconcerned until she rounded the corner and, safely out of sight, collected the little bottle, slid it into her pocket, and began half-jogging towards her rooms.

HPHPHP~

Harry wandered through the unfamiliar muggle streets, happy to be in a town that was much more lax about security measures and secrecy than England seemed to be. After the long debate and drawn out droning of his contract negotiations, he'd been wrangled into going out for celebrations, then had been forced to hurry home as quick as he could to pack his things before going to meet his team at a week long training camp in Belarus. The group had arrived the night before anything was supposed to get underway, and after a firm admonishment to not get themselves killed, Harry's team had dispersed fairly quickly in search of alcohol and entertainment, leaving him free to look around by himself and enjoy the unfamiliar streets as he saw fit.

Though he had a translator spell discretely cast before he'd stepped out into the fray, allowing him to understand the noise around him and to be understood in turn no matter who he talked to, a godsend of a spell if there ever was one, there was no mistaking the sights as anything but patently foreign to him. He felt a bit of culture shock, but also a strong delight at being in a place where no one at all seemed to recognize him. He knew that would change once he went to the pitch in a couple of hours, but even then he would be overshadowed by the celebrity of the Quidditch players—at least he hoped he would. He had been informed that this his was his last responsibility before he was off for Christmas break, but that he should be preparing himself to make some serious decisions about the team when he returned in January. Though he hadn't yet had the pleasure of seeing the crew on the field, he'd already made some notes about some of the key members' coordination, or lack thereof, and was looking forward to seeing how they preformed in the morning.

It was wandering the streets that he saw it. The most stunning gown he'd ever laid eyes on. Admittedly, Harry wasn't much of a fashion expert. If you wanted someone better suited for that he knew people he could put you in contact with, but he saw this gown in the window and instantly thought not of Ginny, but Hermione. Figuring he owed her more times over than he could count for the help, and also deciding that she probably needed a dress for the Ministry's Ball that he and she would undoubtedly be forced to attend on New Year's Eve to be paraded about as pet celebrities, he moved into the shop with a confidence that he would normally never possess in this kind of circumstance. He was quickly waylaid by the fact that he had no idea what her measurements were, but convinced the saleslady to sell him something he was sure would roughly be right, hoping that he could waylay a seamstress this late in the year to get it fitted perfectly before the ball. He paid the extra fees to have it boxed and wrapped decadently, and was waved away by the cheerful ladies who were extra sweet after taking a fair chunk of money from him. He left the shop with a skip in his step, determined to send the package via house-elf first thing, once he wrote an explanatory note about the seamstress plan, that was.


	14. More Than She Knows

Chapter 14- More Than She Knows

AN: Hello again! It's lovely to see you all and I'm delighted at the interest you've shown in this admittedly slow-moving story. As always, I don't own Harry Potter, I'm not making any money from working on this fic, and I'd love to hear what you're thinking about the story so far. The title is a reference to the Spin Doctors song of the same name. And now, onto the story!

The tests that had waylaid her plans for days had all turned up 100% conclusive. She had a vial in her hands of the most contraband potion in the United Kingdom, and the most desperately sought by researchers and the public alike. And she had no idea why she'd been sent it. The deep purple color was so similar to several other potions, and the smell and texture was a lot like two she could think of that would be commonly stored in the undiscerning witch or wizard's cupboard. Easy to disguise, until you started breaking it down at a molecular level. She'd sought out a lab to begin working in, undercover, because if either Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick had known that she even suspected that the Desidero Impios Potion was in her possession, Hermione was sure that they'd want her to go to the proper authorities with it. And she didn't have the time or even the inclination to do that when having this sample meant that she could potentially find out what it was doing to Harry.

Now that she had a confirmation of the substance, as best as she could without ever having seen it before, she could let her mind return to motive. Why had this been sent to her? Did someone know about Harry? Was it the person who'd dosed him in the first place? There had been no clue in the flowers, and after going over them as thoroughly as she had been able, then taking them to her Master (though she hated to think of Filius that way and shied away from the title whenever possible) and had him go over them for curses, she'd donated them to the hospital and hoped that Saint Mungo's could find someone in need of cheering up. Truth be told seeing them in her own space had spooked her, even though she'd had undoubted proof of their harmlessness, and she'd needed them to go away.

Even though she and her best friend hadn't talked since he'd sent her a belaboured floo call shortly after arriving in Belarus of all places, Harry hadn't been far from her mind these last few days. Although she'd sworn to herself that she would put her Hallows research first, the thought of Harry being potentially in danger and her not doing her best to help him along with a fresh trail with which to do so had spoiled her ability to do so in good conscious. So she'd set about working more on the bloody potion, and was thinking of pulling Fred aside for a quick word about it when she was at the Weasleys to see if he could assist. As silly as he was, he was an adept potions maker and experimenter and she was a bit beyond her depth here. She hoped a fresh set of eyes would help.

A part of her wondered at the fact that it was always her best friend that belayed her own plans. She'd never gotten to do a lot of things she wanted to in school because she was often busy helping Harry not get dead. She smiled a little at it though, thinking to herself that she would've done it all over again, well, maybe not the camping part but that hadn't been her plan in the first place.

Still, she was at the castle, and now that she had been sworn into apprenticeship a whole host of books had made themselves known to her in the library, so she had at least the ability to start her own research… somewhere in-between lesson plans with Filius and planning for Christmas and talking to Harry and working on Harry's plans and coming up with original research for her apprenticeship. Now was Christmas break, however, and the castle was still, three days in. She'd found that she was able to go back to the Room of Requirement on the first day of Hols, which had repaired itself somewhere somehow along the way amidst all the rebuilding that had gone on; she suspected the house elves might have had something to do with it. The room had decorated itself in muted brown tones and possessed the lab she needed on one side and a cozy sitting room equipped with books on the other which allowed her to curl up in a chair and read while her experiments sat, and to scribble furiously in one of her three notebooks, depending on which project she was researching. Right now she had found some time to devote to the Hallows, and she was beginning to think that they had more potential than she'd ever initially realized. The references to the Hallows spanned many more books than just re-tellings of fairy tales, and while some of the texts were speculation and rumor, other passages spoke of the things in all seriousness, alongside hard scientific fact. Well, as hard a scientific fact that could exist in a universe with magic. Part of her was itching to start hunting down the Hallows in case her makings of a rough plan were going to work, but it felt like she'd only just gotten back from a ridiculous hunt for magical objects and she wanted to be at least 50 percent sure her plan would work before she put her life on the line this time around.

She would have to leave to have lunch with Filius today and bring him the startings of some of the spells she planned to improve and one she optimistically hoped to invent, and was just preparing to put everything in stasis, pack up, and meet him, making a last note in her pages about the fact that all references to the Hallows indicated a man had possessed them, and always individually, when a house elf appeared just before the fire with a muted pop, eyeing her warily. They still weren't entirely sure if she was safe to approach and she still wasn't entirely convinced that they shouldn't all be set free en masse. That was a project she'd maybe get around to some other day. 5 years or so maybe, she could see herself helping magical creatures. She put it on the backburner in her mind, and banishing her journals and half-packed bag back to her rooms, stood to great the nervous looking elf.

"Hello?" she asked cautiously, taking a cautious step towards him.

"Miff is having instructions from the Headmaster to take Miss Granger to the Hall."

"You mean Headmistress McGonagall?" Hermione asked carefully, taking another step towards the elderly looking elf.

Miff looked uncharacteristically cross for a house elf, and making a soft clicking with his tongue as he shook his head, marched across the room until he was standing right in front of Hermione hand out imperiously. "Miff is not having time for this, Miss Granger will come with Miff right now."

Placing her hand in his tiny one, and hoping she wasn't making a terrible mistake, Hermione only had time to take a half-lungful of air before she was in the endless grip of disappiration.

HPHPHPHP~

Harry stared guiltily at the box that he had, honestly and truthfully, meant to send to Hermione directly a few days ago. Somehow, something else had always come up and he knew he was running out of time if he wanted to surprise her properly and not just give her a useless dress she wouldn't be able to wear any time soon. He had returned to England only today and decided that the only course of action would be to go beg Pavarti for a fitting recommendation, book an appointment with said dress fitter, and take Hermione out for a day. He was acutely aware that there were only 48 hours until they were both expected at the Weasleys and that there were only seven days after that to the Ball and then she would be back to term and he would be back to coaching and there likely wouldn't be time for him to just drop by her house and belay her with wine and Chinese takeout in the way that he'd gotten used to. It felt in many ways as if he had just gotten her back as a best friend and here he was missing her already.

Still, he couldn't deny that he felt better. He felt alive and purposeful and while Quidditch wasn't what he could see himself doing for the rest of his life, it was something he was unquestionably good at. He looked forward to being paid to doing something he was good at instead of simply being given a job based on his namesake alone. The weeding out he'd done of the team had seen him come up against real conflict, but he was so determined to put together a good group of players, to pull his rankings up at least three spots if not more in the new season. He was certain that Hermione would be proud of his determination, even if she had no love of the sport, and he was excited to have something to actually talk to the Weasleys about instead of admitting, even through omission, that he'd been reduced to sulking for months after Ginny had left. Thoughts of her red hair and wild smile plagued him briefly again before he could shove them aside, and he reminded himself that he was doing this for Luna and for Arthur and Molly. They were still his family in many ways and he knew he'd regret not being there, even if it added more pain onto his already strained heart just to be in her presence. He wondered if Molly would have the presence of mind to put a cap on the liquor with the volatile household. He knew that Hermione would if she were the one hosting, but then again she always had been clever.

Which brought him right back to what he should be doing. He hopped up from the squishy chair he'd sunken into and headed out the door, hoping Pavarti was still doing work for Witch Weekly as a fashion columnist, otherwise he would have no idea how to go about finding her.

HPHPHPHP~

Hermione felt instantly off-balance and uneasy as she and Miff landed effortlessly in a great cavernous hall, poorly lit, smelling of damp, and dominated by a set of large elaborately curved and extraordinarily heavy looking doors. She was being dragged forward towards those doors by Miff, who still had her hand in his possession and was much stronger than his appearance belied, and her sense of foreboding was only increasing as they got closer to the imposing architecture.

"Miff I really should be meeting Professor Flitwick right now and I didn't even send him a note or anything so as appreciative as I am for this I think it would be best if—"

Hermione's protestations died on her tongue as Miff pressed his hand and hers together against the grain of the doors and they practically melted away. From inside them shone a strange sort of amber light, and a peacefulness washed over her instantly. Stepping inside the room, she spotted the source of her mood change, a phoenix, perched in front of a roaring fire and looking remarkably like Dumbledore's own familiar. But that was impossible, all familiars passed when their owners did, even she with her muggle upbringing knew that. She let her hand drop absentmindedly from Miff's and headed towards the creature, stopping only when it trilled two warning notes when she was perhaps a meter's length from its perch.

"Miff? Where are we?"

"We is in Hogwarts of course, Miss. The Headmaster was always saying that there is no safer place. So of course he is keeping his secrets here."

"Just to- clarify, this is… Professor Dumbledore's room?"

"His Hall, Miss. Where he preformed all his experiments. "

"And, and no one knows about this, not even the current Headmistress?"

"No Miss. The only living persons who know about it is Miff, and now you."

"And he told you to bring me here?" The little elf began twisting the hem of his uniform anxiously at that, still looking unerringly at Hermione's face.

"Miff was to take the young Miss Granger to the Hall only if the Headmaster had died and if she had begun to research the Hallows, Miss. Miff would have done so sooner if Miff had known but with Miss using the Come and Go Room it was hard for Miff to pinpoint the Miss' interest in the Hallows, even with the spells the Headmaster told Miff to use. Miff is sorry if he has caused any setbacks in the Headmaster's plans, Miff is most sorry indeed!"

"No Miff, you've done really well. I'm just, having trouble understanding it all that's why I'm asking so many questions."

"Miff has told you all he knows, now Miff will give you the key to the Hall. You need only touch it and it will take you here, without Miff's help. But if Miss does need help with anything at all, Miff is to be her personal assistant elf." Here he leveled a pointed stare at her "for research into this kind of knowledge only. The Headmaster himself told Miff. You will be needing the help Miss, because it is dangerous stuff and Miff has seen much of it."

"That's, really nice of you Miff but you've already done so much for me and I couldn't—"

"Miff will help Miss Granger, whether she likes it or not." This was said with such an air of finality that Hermione sighed and decided that she would not push the issue for now. She took the little key, wrapped in a soft blue scrap of fabric, from the house elf, and sliding it into her pocket, went directly for the bookshelves, her meeting with her Master all but forgotten.


	15. Don't Let Me Down

Chapter 15- Don't Let Me Down

AN: As always, don't own it, not making any money off of it, let me know if you're feelin it, if you hate it, however it is by dropping me a review! The title of this chapter is inspired by the Bad Company cover of the same name.

Hermione had spent close to two hours in the hidden chamber and would have gratefully spent much more time there if Miff hadn't appeared and insisted that she go up to the Great Hall for supper with the rest of the castle's inhabitants. As it was she still made it there a few minutes into the meal, even with the irate dragging her through a veritable labyrinth of hallways just to reach a place that was even vaguely familiar to her. She skidded to a halt in front of the entrance and with a nod to Miff who had the audacity to huff a little before popping back off to wherever he needed to be, rearranged her hair as best she could and went to sit with the members of staff. With most of the students having vacated the premises, everyone left was sitting at one large table, and she placed herself next to a sixth year Hufflepuff student she vaguely recognized and immediately began to apologize to Professor Flitwick, who was looking as stonily at her as she had ever seen him do.

"I'm so sorry Professor, I completely lost track of time, I found some new information I hadn't anticipated when I was working on my research and sat down with it thinking it would only take a minute and then the next thing I knew I looked up and it was 6 o'clock." She began hastily, hoping that she hadn't crossed the ordinarily amiable man too much.

"Where, exactly, were you Miss Granger? It is one thing to miss your appointment, which you very rarely do, I know you to be an extremely punctual person, but it is entirely another when the Headmistress and I set out to look for you, worried something might have happened to you, and we cannot find you anywhere! You had us quite concerned!"

Hermione stopped dead, looking him directly in his very blue, very suddenly hard eyes and tried not to look like a small child caught with a handful of biscuits while she thought quickly. She did not want to divulge the secret of the Hall to even these people, who she trusted implicitly, because it felt like betraying Dumbledore somehow, but they clearly knew she hadn't been in any of her other customary spots. Putting a smile on her face as best as she could, Hermione offered up the excuse of the Room of Requirement quickly, hoping against hope that they would know of it to some extent and understand why she wanted a space that didn't remind her of the Hogwarts of her childhood, a space that was her own, and not react with suspicion instead.

She was met with a hard look not only from Flitwick but from Professor McGonagall who had finished whatever it was she was saying to Sinistra when Hermione had sat down and now was devoting her full attention to the conversation occurring across from her.

"Well, I can certainly understand you wanting a space of your own to work, especially if you're doing experimental practical work of any kind, Miss Granger, but I would appreciate it if you notify me in advance that you'll be working with practical magic and that you do it in a space where I can check on you in the event that something backfires. Imagine if you'd had magical backlash! We would probably still be searching for you while you suffered serious consequences!" Flitwick retorted, the steel in his voice softened only a little by her explanation. Hermione nodded, looking down at the table and feeling thoroughly chastised. She would need to make sure she spent time in her own quarters more frequently from now on simply for appearance sake, which would be an extreme challenge without a lab.

The headmistress chimed in just as Hermione began to finally fill her food with plate, anticipating eating a fair amount of food to make up for a day spent only nibbling here and there as she worked.

"I know it is hard on you Hermione, being back at the school after being out on your own for a little while" the woman began gently, regarding her favourite pupil with much more gentleness than her coworker had "but you must take better care to fulfill the conditions of your apprenticeship. It may be unlike you to be late but I trust that you won't make it a habit in the future?" when Hermione nodded once more, feeling much too much like she was being treated like a small child instead of the adult she was, McGonagall continued. "The war is still fresh in all of our minds and perhaps we acted a bit rashly in light of that. However the last thing we would like to see is someone within these walls hurt now that the rebuilding is finished. I know your school years were a bit chaotic but I would like Hogwarts to return to a place of peace."

"Well, there are still Death Eaters lose and with the flux in power there will be more evil pushing forward to try to take Lord Voldemort's place soon enough I'm sure." Hermione replied wryly, thinking that this was a dark turn for the conversation to take and digging into her Sheppard's pie with relish.

"Miss Granger!" Flitwick squeaked, eyeing her pointedly.

She shrugged delicately and putting down her fork with a sigh once more explained "I'm not advocating for it, I think the entire Wizarding World could use a break after fighting for as long as we have, I'm just saying that there'll be someone who fancies themselves as the new dark lord popping up sooner or later."

"History repeats itself which is why it's so important that we learn from our mistakes." Chimed in Professor Vector, giving her an approving nod from a little bit further down the table. Hermione smiled darkly at her in thanks and went back to her supper, trying to ignore the little void in the conversation she'd caused. Eventually the professors went back to talking and other than the Hufflepuff boy regarding her with a sort of fearful thoughtfulness, Hermione was left to eat in relative peace.

Hermione had returned reluctantly to her quarters instead of the Hall after dinner, as she wouldn't put it past to Minerva to check up on her and make sure she was following the procedures that had been set in place at dinner. Feeling very petulant, and trying not to think too hard about the fact that her only sample of the Desideros potion was still simmering away under stasis in the room of requirement, she settled down in her own armchair and was pleasantly surprised by the letter from Harry that had been delivered to her and left on her coffee table in her absence.

She picked up the missive, noting that it was of a much more heavier parchment then she was used to Harry sending her, and that although it was definitely his magical signature that had sealed it, it wasn't his handwriting addressing it to her. Frowning slightly, she quickly snapped it open and began to read.

_Hermione! I know this is probably a bit sudden, but I've had the perfect inspiration for your Christmas present, which I know is very exciting since I'm not the greatest of gift givers. But, it means kidnapping you for the day tomorrow. I know, I know, that leaves you with entirely no notice, but I'm hoping you can still come? If I was more organized I would've let you know next week so you could clear your schedule. Please, please do me this favour so I can do you one? Plus it'll let us have some one-on-one Christmas time which I have a feeling will be a bit thin on the ground at the Weasleys'. I'm already home, have been for a few days actually, so feel free to just pop on through the Floo or send a message back via owl or I don't know, Vulcan mind meld, whatever suits you. (I still wouldn't put it past your abilities to send messages that way. You're brilliant, I don't think I tell you that enough.) Anyhow, this post guy is looking at me pretty impatiently so I think I'm going to have to end this here. See you soon?_

_Love, _

_Harry._

Hermione put the letter down carefully, not sure whether to smile or to frown. She had been greatly relieved to see that the letter itself was in Harry's messy scrawl, but he was right that she would have been better off with more notice than this. She was debating popping through the Floo and asking him just how much time he was taking up before she went and begged it off from Flitwick, but another part of her was saying that since she did in fact only have a half day tomorrow before she was unscheduled for any time until the 27th, she should just tell Harry that he'd have to wait until after noon for any surprises, Christmas gifts for her benefit or not. Deciding that she would rather indispose Harry than potentially annoy Professor Flitwick again for the second time today, she stood and threw back on her only recently removed robes before stepping into the Floo in a flash of green, her destination Grimmauld Place.

HGHGHG~

Harry had been bouncing off the walls practically all day, much to the displeasure of pretty much everyone around him. He'd barreled into the Witch Weekly office and bartered with Pavarti over getting into a dress maker for nearly half an hour, until the poor woman had sent off a personal message to her sister Padma, whose partner May ran a discrete and very expensive shop down in the heart of London, away from the general hubbub of Diagon Alley. He'd waited, practically vibrating on the little pink glorified stool she provided as a place for her clients to sit, drinking very bad tea like a lifeline and ignoring all of the women in the building who kept finding reasons to pop in. Pavarti was entirely unfazed by his fame after the fiasco that was the Yule Ball in his fourth year, and was using the time to get some serious writing done by the looks of things, her perfectly shaped and coloured nails veritably flying across the parchment with a quill. After his third time inquiring into her work, she had forbidden him from speaking on threat of a silencing spell.

Finally, she finished whatever it was that was so important and set aside her work, regarding him carefully.

"Are you going to tell me why you're begging this favour from me? And for who?" she looked smug now, like she'd won a prize.

"H-how do you know it's not for me?"

"You specifically asked for a tailor for a dress, so unless the savior of the Wizarding World has recently decided he wants to be a lady—no offense meant if you do—then there must be a lady friend. And trust me when I say I'd love to know who." Her smile reminded Harry uncomfortably of Rita Skeeter and he wondered if all journalists learned it somewhere or if it was genetic.

"Look, Pavarti, I'm super grateful that you're helping me out of a bind here, but trust me when I say it's nothing special. It's just a Christmas present I've had planned for a while."

There was an unsubtle gleam in her eye when he said that which made Harry feel physically ill.

"I really also hoped you wouldn't be looking for a story to return the favour, I thought I had made it clear to everyone I want to Hogwarts with that I hate being in the limelight." He added futilely. "But I have a feeling if I don't give you something better, you'll just set it up so you get pictures when I take her there and write your own story fueled by gossip, won't you?"

She continued to say nothing, simply regarding him with a growing grin on her face that made him think of a predatory cat.

"What if I promise you an exclusive interview at the ball? Photos, a sit down, everything."

"At the Ministry's Ball?" Pavarti seemed thrown by such an offer.

"Yes, the New Year's Ball. The moment I walk in the doors I'm yours for the night."

"That won't do, Harry, and you and I both know it. Too many people around to overhear us, too much other content to give precedence. We'll be focused on doing interviews with as many people as possible and getting as many photos as possible and you'll already probably feature prominently on a lot of publications. But…" she regarded him shrewdly now "if you're willing to do an exclusive interview, what if we say you and I sit down on the 27th and we get a print run ready for January? We could publish it right after the ball, a fresh start to the new year, with your face at the helm."

"Will your supervisor give you permission to run it that soon? Bump everything out of the way?" A loud nasally voice interrupted. Harry hadn't even noticed someone else come into the room and berated himself internally for jumping a little when a very vividly dressed women made herself known only a meter or so from behind him. At this rate there was no way he was going to be fit to be an auror, he was losing the instincts every day!

"Marie, you and I both know that he'll sell himself just by his name alone!" Pavarti said, waving at him fairly dismissively. Marie looked rather put out at the thought, but extended her hand to Harry all the same. "Marie Saunders, acting supervisor, pleasure to meet you Mr. Potter." Her handshake was limp and her smile was forced. Harry tried not to pull his hand back too hastily out of fear of seeming rude. "I'm so glad you and Ms. Patil could come to an agreement."

Her smile was just as wide as Pavarti's now but still forced in a way that her younger charge was not. Harry began to seriously wonder what he'd gotten himself into as they began to discuss details of publication literally over his head, and was very glad when the Floo flared green and a slightly singed envelope fluttered into Pavarti's waiting hand. He was even more relieved when Pavarti said that her sister could get him in for 1 o'clock tomorrow. Maybe everything would work out okay after all. He told Pavarti to send him a message organizing the details of their upcoming interview and practically ran out of the building, thinking wryly that he wouldn't be surprised if he was gossip fodder in the publication long before his article was printed.

HGHGHG~

Hermione stepped through the Floo into the library at Grimmauld place and smiled as she brushed the dust from her robes. It had been her idea to reconnect the fireplace here instead of in the library when Harry and Ginny had been ruthlessly remodeling the building— the kitchen had never provided much space with the giant and ancient table occupying it to make room for graceful transport out of the hearth— and she was happy that it provided such a pleasant sight upon arrival. The then cheerful couple had redone most of this floor as well as the main ones and had been steadily working upwards when Ginny had broken it off. Hermione wondered idly if Harry would throw himself back into the project now that the memory of her seemed to have lost its edge a little. It had done him a sort of therapeutic good to see the place his godfather had despised destroyed and turned into a space of his own, Hermione was sure, and she resolved to ask him about working on it.

The formerly gloomy house was hardly recognizable now, and as Hermione moved swiftly down the Halls toward the Kitchen, thinking that it might be where she'd find signs of life in the huge house, she was glad for it. The house still felt too big to be inhabited by such few people and she was glad that the new bright colour scheme and wooden floors restored to positively blinding shininess made her feel less like she needed to watch the shadows constantly in wait of something jumping out at her.

She had moved to the staircase and smiled slightly as she heard definite noise coming from the direction of the main floor. Harry seemed to live in the kitchen and the cozy former parlour turned his personal study that occupied much of the main floor, even before Ginny had left. Hermione suspected that the sheer size of the house overwhelmed Harry and that this way he was close to almost everything he needed without traversing into the gloomy renovation-less part of the place. She remembered the way that she Harry and Ron had elected to stay in one room all together hunting Horocruxes what seemed like a lifetime ago and shivered a bit at the deep loneliness that had pervaded even then. Now, without Kreacher, who Harry had given to the service of Hogwarts after the aftermath of the battle, and without a lot of the heavy décor, the house did not have the animosity it possessed back then but it certainly still seemed lonely. Hastening to reach him and get past the haze of her own memories, Hermione peaked her head into the kitchen, where there were definite signs of tea recently made but no Harry, and then into the study, knocking lightly on the ajar door before stepping inside.

"Hey, am I interrupting?" She asked, regarding a very rumpled looking Harry carefully. He was surrounded by a veritable mountain of paper work, a large chart floating on his right side with brightly coloured dots moving around on it.

"Hermione!" he half-shouted, throwing down his quill into the open ink pot decisively and standing up quickly, skirting around the landmine of open files and sheets of parchment with grace. He scooped her up into a hug and with a slightly manic smile began herding her back out of the office.

"It won't be comfortable to stay in there, all my chairs are covered with paper. If it wasn't all Quidditch related you'd probably be more at home there than I am!" He joked. "And you're not disturbing me at all. I was beginning to worry you wouldn't get my note at all in time, I'm happy you stopped in."

"Well, I had a long day so this is the soonest I could get back to you. You weren't waiting too long were you?"

"Only ten hours or so."

They had moved into the cozy sitting room, and Hermione could physically see Ginny in the decorative choices here with somewhat of a pang. The muted lilac on the walls, the soft thick white carpeting, the light wood furniture, it all practically screamed the younger girl's preference for feminine and modern. Hermione wondered if Harry noticed too, but he seemed at home in the big armchair next to the fire that he'd settled in to, so she decided not to mention it just now.

"So, you can come then?" Harry began right away as soon as she looked to be on her way to sitting down on the squashy loveseat.

"Well, it depends on when you need me. I have a half-day tomorrow so I'll be done at noon. And then I will absolutely need lunch before you drag me off on one of your schemes." He was vibrating with excitement before she even finished.

"That's great! I'll take you for food somewhere before our appointment at one! Everything works out!"

"Appointment? Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see." His grin was positively devilish.

"Harry Potter" Hermione began, eyes narrowing pointedly "if this is some twisted makeover scheme I swear to God—"

"Not…. Exactly…."

"Harry!"

"Can you please just wait and see until tomorrow? I promise it will be a lot of fun and you'll really like it." His eyes were wide and pleading and she found herself relenting against her better judgment.

"Alright. But if you so much as take a step towards a hair salon I reserve the right to stun and bind you in broad daylight and leave you for the aurors to find."

"No problem, no hairdressers are on the itinerary." His smile was back in place and Hermione really hoped she wouldn't be letting him down in his fun tomorrow. It was nice to see him excited all the time. "I'll swing by the castle, apparate you to our destination then?"

"Sure, but you better come early and make time for tea with Minerva. She'll be livid if you stop by and don't say hello."

He was already nodding, summoning tea from the kitchen and settling in for what looked like a long chat about other things. Hermione relaxed against the cushions of the couch and let him begin to talk, looking forward to a relaxing evening before she returned to the castle.


	16. Some Chords

Chapter 16- Some Chords

AN: Well here we are again, it's always such a pleasure…. As always don't own it, don't make any money at all off of it, love to hear from you as to how you likin' it. The title of this chapter is based on the Deadmau5 song of the same name. On with the story!

Hermione's morning went as well as could be expected. Christmas was so thickly in the air and on the minds of the inhabitants of the castle that it made her feel vaguely ill, but at least Flitwick seemed to have forgiven her in the light of the new day, and they had spent a very productive breakfast munching on toast and debating the finer details of her search spell.

For all of his sweetness he was a very clever man, and had immediately grasped the fact that not only would this spell be incredibly useful for researchers in every field, but that she must have had a particular reason for coming up with it.

"What exactly is it that you're looking for, Miss Granger? Is it something you've already asked Minerva and I about, or is it something more?" he'd finally asked outright when she had steadfastly ignored his pointed hints for the better of a quarter hour.

"I'd rather not say until I have more data. It's—kind of a pet project." Hermione said firmly, hoping that would end the conversation.

"Well, we might have access to resources you don't have, we could maybe arrange for people for you to talk to, that kind of thing." He pressed, looking at her very seriously.

"I'm sure you can for a large manner of things, but this involves so much research into even the kind of research I need to do that I'm not sure what questions to ask. If I get to the point where I'm experimenting with anything or need more clarification on something, I will be sure to come to you first, but right now I'm really not sure what you can do."

"Matters of finding the right question…" Flitwick looked thoughtful. "Well, it might not harm you to run some arithmancy questions if that's what is troubling you. Now on to the actual reference spell!"

They practiced potential wand movements and broke down the structure and nature of the spell on diagrams before he let her out early at 11 with a fond "Happy Christmas!" and a promise to see each other at the Ministry Ball as she wouldn't be staying in the castle for Christmas. Hermione left feeling of good spirit and a little bit guilty about how nice he was in the face of her errors the evening prior.

HPHPHP~

Harry had woken up suddenly at five am and knew instantly that going back to sleep would be impossible. It wasn't like him to be so excited about everything, but Christmas was shaping up to be at the very least incredibly interesting, and he was going to spend a day with his best friend properly. Last night sitting up and talking with Hermione had felt like coming home in a way that reminded him fondly of he and Ron and Hermione sitting around the Common Room fire, and that if nothing else had him resolved to make amends properly with the Weasleys over the holidays.

He fussed around in the kitchen, making himself a breakfast he knew he wouldn't even properly eat, noting what he was low on and using a trick he'd borrowed from Hermione, spelled a list into existence while his hands were otherwise occupied with ladles and flour. Harry hadn't had an appetite properly since the Final Battle, and often found himself missing meals. But ever since the potion dosing he had found his already nonexistent appetite diminishing even more. He simply woke up and felt energized, like he had no need for nutrients. It would feel weird, wrong even to stop eating completely though so he made sure he did at least eat a bit every day, but he knew this breakfast was largely going to be packed up and given to someone who really needed it.

When Harry had discovered that he found cooking soothing last year, he had sought out the nearest shelter to Grimmuald. He remembered acutely what it felt like to be starving after living with the Dursleys and decided that he would never waste food. So when he found he needed to use up food to soothe his nerves instead of just to keep his own body running, he would often walk the area and give a hot meal or two to the needy.

He ate a couple of pieces of cinnamon toast absentmindedly before he packed up the perfectly poached half dozen eggs, half a rasher of bacon, a pan of bangers and mash, and, after some consideration two large thermoses of coffee and one of hot tea. He decided to walk instead of apparating today, even though the sun was barely up.

Walking quietly and quickly through the abandoned and derelict muggle streets, it didn't take him long to find Tom. When he had first met the boy back in October, Harry had been taken aback. The small boy was bright, scrappy, and sassy. When he'd asked him why he was on the streets, Tom had looked at him with dark old eyes and replied, "here I make my own rules." Harry figured the boy could not be older than eight. He always took the food Harry offered with a snarky comment and sometimes, on a really bad day, a tired smile. Harry lived in fear of the day that he stopped seeing him on his visits.

"Tom." He greeted the boy calmly, who had startled awake and into instant alertness when Harry was still a fair few feet away. One of the side effects of living on the street, he supposed.

"Oh, it's you." The distain in the child's voice contrasted directly with the quick hungry glance toward the satchel Harry had slung across his shoulder. Harry felt a pang of guilt at the sight of him. He was skinnier than ever and probably hadn't been eating by the look of him and it had been a very cold winter.

"How're you getting on?" he asked quietly as he opened his satchel and without hesitation handed over the largest package in his bag and the thermos of tea. The boy inhaled the scent greedily and began to dig in with his fingers directly, inhaling the bacon with a speed that Harry was sure he'd regret later.

"A'ight. There's gonna be a big thing at the Church on Christmas day, where they'll feed us all, and after Christmas everyone gets extra generous with the handouts on the streets, so as long as I avoid the cops and don't get myself sent to a shelter again" he scowled here "I'll be good til the middle of January at least."

Harry nodded quietly, wanting again to help the boy more concretely, but when he'd offered money before Tom had snapped at him and vanished from his regular haunt for almost two weeks. He didn't want to insult him again.

"Well, I might not be around for a bit, so you take care of yourself okay?"

"If I hadn't been I wouldn't have made it this far, mister. You're weird." Tom had turned away dismissively, gulping down the tea greedily.

Harry walked away and continued on his rounds, feeding two other regulars and one new woman who was camped out by the river and didn't have the hardened look most of the homeless did. He made a mental note to check up on her in a few days. By the time he returned home he felt both more devastated by the state of the world and more hopeful about humanity, the way he normally did after a morning or late evening out on this kind of errand. It really was quite chilly out, and Harry made a note to ask Hermione about getting some blankets and winter clothing for the next time. He re-entered the house and tried to decide what he was going to do with six more hours before he was scheduled to meet with McGonagall and then Hermione.

He wandered the house for a bit, listlessly walking from room to room, floor to floor, noting the actual shift in energy when he moved from the renovated to unrenovated sections of the manor. He hardly even remembered that he was in Sirius' house when he was on the main floor, but as he ascended the gloom settled on him fairly quickly. He made a note to resume renos soon, to keep working on making the space friendly and habitable, even if it was just to sell the ancient house in the future. Though with its remaining secret-kept status it was difficult to fathom how he might do that. He made yet another mental note to his ever-growing list of things to ask Hermione about, right as he turned into the library on his way back down the stairs. He actually smiled when he crossed the bright threshold of the room, which provided an absolutely dazzling view of the sunrise through the large windows that lined the far wall. The best decision they'd made in the whole house was this room in many ways, he thought, as he looked at the stacks and stacks of books lining the shelves, the hardwood spotted here and there with thick rugs, the soft warm and accommodating furniture. This had been one of his rooms, until Hermione took it over when he'd asked for help sorting out the dark and unsafe books from the more benign ones. But it didn't scream Hermione overtly. She'd kept things muted and tasteful and vaguely masculine, with rich colours and neutral paint, it didn't have the lightness that her own flat had. He was glad of a room that didn't overtly scream to him of his past life, he realized, and summoned his paperwork from his study, settling into one of the leather loveseats next to the currently empty fireplace to work for the remainder of the morning.

HGHGHG~

Harry was already sitting on her couch when Hermione got back to her rooms, looking like he lived there, taking tea comfortably with Professor McGonagall. If not for the notable lack of tartan Hermione might have believed for a moment that she had simply walked into the Headmistresses' quarters and not her own, and stumbled quite ungracefully upon seeing them both.

"Oh." She managed, closing her mouth, straightening her legs, and continuing to her bedroom without any more of a greeting, dropping her book bag off there before exiting and joining her best friend and mentor, taking a moment in her own space to school her features into a polite facsimile of puzzlement.

"Hello, Hermione. Everything went well with Filius, I trust?" McGonagall asked politely, ignoring entirely Hermione's rude lack of niceties.

"Yes, it did." She answered calmly, keeping herself from looking accusingly askance at the both of them only through sheer willpower. She felt paranoid, like this was some sort of intervention. She didn't have to wait long, however, for Harry was already answering her implicit question.

"We moved here for tea because we weren't sure when you'd be done and you and I have an appointment to wait. It was my idea. I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable?" he trailed it off questioningly, clearly looking vaguely regret-filled and very uncertain.

"It's fine, Harry. I was just lost in thoughts of my work and then it threw me off to have people unexpectedly in my rooms. I'm used to a quiet empty space when I come home. It was unexpected, not unpleasant." She smiled reassuringly at both of them and was glad to see Harry physically relax as she did. "What did you two get to talking about?"

"Quidditch, mostly." McGonagall replied crisply, bestowing Harry with one of her rare fond smiles as she did so. "I'm glad he's pursuing it. It would be a shame to waste the talent he has. I picked you for a reason all those years ago, and it wasn't just to get up the nose of your former potions professor." Her smile lapsed a little as they all remembered the rivalry she and Snape had shared before everything went to shit, and then she was standing, shaking Harry's hand crisply, smoothing her robes and moving to the Floo determinedly.

"Harry was quite eager to take you out, dear, and here I am taking up your time. We'll see the both of you later!" and with that she was gone, leaving Harry and Hermione standing side-by-side staring after her.

"Did you just talk about Quidditch all this time?" Hermione asked, turning to smile at Harry while he bounded up from the couch, putting back on his coat and shrinking his cloak to stuff in his pocket. It was clear that he really was in quite a hurry to go.

"Nah, we also talked about you. But come on now, lunch time! Anywhere you want to go in London!"

"Are we apparating?"

"Yes ma'am! Thankfully Minerva— it'll never be normal to call her that, you know?— was telling me she got one of those damned apparition stars put permanently at the gate. Go get your coat and your favourite pair of shoes. Those strappy ones you wore to Gin and my engagement party. But don't wear them, just bring them with."

"I'm beginning to really worry." Hermione called as she hurried back to her bedroom, donning her favourite peacoat that had been a gift from her mother before she'd left for the summer and sliding into some soft leather boots. After some serious digging in her closet she found the shoes in question. They were black and had much much too heel for her, but they had wrapped so lovely around her ankles and made her feel feminine in a way that she sometimes didn't after the fallout from the war. She hadn't shone like Ginny or Luna or Pavarti or even Lavender did up on the podium at the awards ceremonies, but in these shoes she felt powerful. In these shoes, she felt like she could take on the world. Harry was right, she didn't wear them enough. Dangling them off her right fingertips, she double-checked that her wands were still in place in their sheaths, and winding her hair up on top of her head and sticking a charmed quill through it to hold it in place, she rejoined Harry who was bouncing on his heels waiting for her, looking so excited to take her for her surprise that she couldn't help but smile at him.

"Alright, any other requests?"

"No, but you might wanna shrink those down unless you plan on carrying them all throughout London."

"What would I do if I weren't a witch?" she joked, waving her hand over the shoes and placing their now miniaturized versions in her pocket carefully. Harry looked at her strangely as she did it, but moved in to take her arm and begin walking her out of the castle the instant it was done. She wrestled her earmuffs on with one hand as they walked, effortlessly meandering through the quiet halls, waving and saying hello to a professor or two along the way. Hermione didn't fail to notice the nostalgic and slightly sad look that passed over Harry's face as they made their way to the doors, and knew he was remembering the battle that took place, the bodies that had littered the ground, the same way she did. She tightened her grip on him a little bit and smiled when he looked at her askance. She wondered if they'd ever grow out of it.

Once they were on the grounds, Harry spoke up about the look he'd given her in her quarters almost immediately, as if a secrecy spell had been lifted.

"When did you start doing wandless magic?" he asked, looking at her pointedly.

"Well, I've always dabbled in it a little." Hermione began, a bit taken a back and a bet on the defensive, "but lately it's seemed more instinctive. I use it quite often now." To her surprise, he looked grim at that. "Why?"

"Because your magic is growing stronger too. Mine's been better than it's ever been since well, since Voldemort came back at the Triwizard Tournament. You remember how Dumbledore figured I was linked to him not only through blood but through magic? Well, the aurors confirmed it. I lost a lot of power when he died, Hermione. Then I'm doused with a dark poison and I'm stronger than ever. You heal me and suddenly we're both doing things that even you with your extraordinary skills struggled with before. I'm worried, is all."

"Well, I'll run some tests when we get back, before we go to the Weasley gathering tomorrow. And if they come back at all problematic, I'll consult with a healer. Okay?"

"Alright, Mione." They had reached the gates now, smiling at the new house Hagrid had built fondly along the way as they slogged through the thick snow. Hermione shot drying charms at their ankles and was glad she was going into muggle London and so hadn't had to drag her robes through all of the thickly piled snow. She loved the Wizarding World, and her ablity to cast warming charms at will, but cold robes were cold robes, and unpleasant even if one had to endure them for only a second. Re-securing her wand in its sheath, she offered her arm to Harry with a smile.

"Well, take me on an adventure then."


	17. Maybe, This Time

Chapter 17- Maybe, This Time

AN: Hello all you lovely people following and favouriting this story, it's nice to see you! :) The title of this chapter is based on the OK Go song of the same name.

Harry and Hermione apparted with a neat pop, Hermione staggering a little, as they landed in a small side alley in the heart of a very busy London. She still wasn't entirely used to side-along apparition and much preferred it when she could transport herself, but Harry was deadest on surprising her, so she had put up with the slight discomfort.

He pulled his hand off of her almost immediately after they had settled, and began striding purposefully away, blending so seamlessly into the thick crowd of London-ers out on their lunch break that Hermione almost lost him in the few seconds it took to catch up to him again. She tried not to feel disappointment at the loss of his fingers on her arm. It would be silly to. Harry was her friend, nothing more, even if no one had ever done anything as special for her on Christmas as he was trying to do right now.

"Where are we going?" she asked, playfully nudging him with her elbow.

"Well, I was hoping you still liked sushi. If you don't, we can go literally anywhere you want. It's your day, I'm spoiling you. As long as we're out of the restaurant before 1:00."

"That shouldn't be a problem, seeing as I got out of Flitwick's early. Did you even notice?" she teased, flashing her watch in his face and seeing him visibly calm when presented with the notion that it wasn't even past noon yet.

"Oh. Well then." He smiled sheepishly at her as they turned the corner and found themselves directly in front of the sushi place they'd tried on a whim a few months back, and with only a minimal line at the door.

"Doesn't look like they're as busy during lunch as they are during supper." Hermione commented as they opened the door and joined the line waiting to be seated, inhaling all of the delicious scents wafting through from the kitchen.

It didn't take long until they were seated and their order placed, with Hermione ordering green tea for the both of them and pouring the service so well their waitress almost looked at her approvingly. Their food arrived when they were just starting in on their second cups of tea and Hermione had moved in on trying to get information about where they were going. She had ordered light, a roll of avocado and a roll of yam arriving in front of her with the customary ginger and wasabi delicately placed at the corner of her plate, while Harry had ordered a roll of bbq eel, a roll of salmon and a roll of tuna. They dug in happily, conversation all but stopping while they savoured the delicious food.

Too soon, Hermione was feeling over-full but contented, and settled in to drink her tea while Harry continued devouring his mountain of food. She hoped he wasn't taking her any place where she'd feel self-conscious about her currently bloated stomach. It was good to see him eat, though, she'd noticed he was back to picking at food after his almost binge-like behaviour when the war had ended. After spending so long in the forest surviving on very little he and Ron had ate like kings for weeks on end. Then, long before he and Ginny had broken up Harry's appetite had seemed to wane, and he'd fluctuated wildly from one side to the other ever since.

Finally, he was done too, and after asking her no less than three times if she was sure she didn't want dessert, Harry and her set off for their secret destination. They had twenty minutes yet to spare, so Harry had them walk for five, enjoying being in the city very clearly, smiling almost fondly at both the shops and people as they walked, before pulling her into an alley and, clearly excited, apparated them away, saying that being fifteen minutes early was exactly what they wanted for this kind of thing, and that it might save his arse for the potential trouble he had caused. Hermione tried not to worry too much about what that might mean as they were whisked away into oblivion.

HGHGHG~

Harry was pleased that he had landed the apparition just right, landing neatly in the waiting foyer instead of outside the shop with a quiet pop, arms securely around Hermione to keep her from swaying. Smiling at her as she stepped back from him, looking slightly queasy, he clasped her hand reassuringly and led her confidently to the pretty witch regarding him coolly at the welcome stand.

"Hello, we have an appointment for one o'clock? Harry Potter?" he said to her softly, smiling even though her mask of cool indifference had not yet vanished in the face of his attempted charm.

"I will let Pam know you have arrived. Please take a seat." She pointed him to the soft light blue loveseat to their left, and turned back to her computer, her icy façade never shifting.

"Harry? Where… are we?"

The way the building was designed, it was impossible to see anything unless you were let in past the reception area. There were soft translucent screens that blocked anything beyond the desk. Harry thought it was a bit of an odd business model, but he supposed that people, wizards and muggles alike, liked the air of exclusivity.

"You'll see." He answered quietly, releasing her hand as an afterthought.

Hermione was fidgeting like she was about to face a very unpleasant trial. Harry sighed a little. This was supposed to be fun! He began to wonder if he had made a mistake and frowned slightly in consternation. Hopefully she would come around when she saw her dress. Remembering that he was still in possession of the piece, he pulled out the tiny box from his pocket, and, checking to make sure the receptionist was still preoccupied, waved his wand over it, enlarging it to its full size.

"You should resize those shoes before we go in." he said quietly to Hermione, who looked confused but obligingly pulled out the miniature heels and brought them back up to their regular stature. Setting them neatly on her lap, she looked curiously at the large box and then at him. He smiled mysteriously and he hoped a bit reassuringly, and then Padma was coming around from the corner furthest from them, looking confident, reserved, and friendly.

"Harry! We're ready for you now." She called.

Harry stood up and walked confidently towards his former classmate, expression never faltering even as he noted the way Padma's face changed in surprise when she noticed who his guest was. He was certain that Pavarti had tipped her off that he'd be bringing a new date and that she'd be the first to get in on the gossip, and she looked slightly disappointed as she took in the countenance of his best friend instead.

"Hermione! Harry didn't tell me it was you who was coming! Oh we'll have to catch up!" she chirped pleasantly as she brought the pair around the curtained off sections and began to guide them through the tiny but clearly very illustrious shop. "Have either of you met my Clarisse?"

"I'm afraid I haven't, although I've heard nothing but good things about her. She's the reason we're here today." Harry answered politely, watching as Padma coloured prettily with pride.

She turned and called her partner over with a soft gesture, and the woman joined them from the back of the store quite swiftly. Harry took in her soft warm eyes, her deep chestnut hair, and her tall stature carefully, watching as she bestowed a casual kiss to Padma's cheek before shaking both Hermione and Harry's hands.

"Harry, Hermione, this is Clarisse. She runs the fashion side of things while I handle the business side." Padma explained sweetly. "Clarisse, these lovely people are our 1:30, and also good friends of mine. We fought together in the war and graduated from the same class at Hogwarts." This knowledge seemed not to ruffle the other woman at all.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Please come back with me to one of the fitting rooms and we'll discuss what we're doing for you today mmm?" Her accent was hard for Harry to place, but he obediently moved to follow her, noticing only at the last second Hermione's reluctance and grabbing hold of her arm gently so she was hopefully more compelled to follow.

"Padma, you will bring tea and come chat with your friends?"

"Of course, I'll be right along. Just let me bring some paperwork with."

And so Harry and Hermione found themselves shepherded into a small partition in the back with mirrors stretching from the floor to ceiling, enchanted to hover above the floor and move in command to the seamstress, who calmly gestured for them to all move flat against the wall upon their entrance, and after they were seated comfortably on a soft cream divan, Harry carefully opened the box he'd been carrying around and lifted the dress out.

"This is what I was hoping you could help me with. I didn't know about sizing or anything but the ladies said it could be fitted?" Immediately Clarisse was snatching it from his hands, smoothing the material where he'd crumpled it, and snapping her fingers for a dress form.

"This is stunning, Mr. Potter. Where did you get it? Not in Britain, surely? I'd know the designer if you did."

"No, I picked it up in Belarus actually."

"Well, the fabric is utterly decadent. You have lovely taste." She said.

"What do you think, Hermione?" This was Padma, stepping through with a full tea service in her hands, she turned and deposited on the little table next to Harry's elbow and moved up to join her partner in marveling over the fabric. Harry turned to look at Hermione expectantly, a small hopeful smile on his lips.

Hermione looked nothing short of stunned. Her eyes were wide and her lips had fallen open into a little oh of surprise, her fingers gone white where she clutched at her shoes.

"I.. I didn't see it before. It was a surprise." She explained weakly to the dress makers, who smiled knowingly at each other.

"Well, come give it a closer look dear before we put you in it and work our magic." Clarisse commanded gently, gesturing for the girl to join her. Hermione absentmindedly handed Harry her heels and walked up to the gown, entranced.

"It looks like you picked a winner, Harry." Padma said to him quietly, stepping back so Hermione could get a closer look at the dress. He just chuckled a little and set down her shoes on the space she'd recently vacated, and poured himself a cuppa.

"It's muggle, yes?" Clarisse asked, looking at some of the beadwork along the shoulder straps. When Harry nodded she made a little hmm of approval and continued circling it. "You can tell. The fabric is divine. It gets a little rougher when magic has been used, there's no fault in it but there's nothing you can do."

"Hermione? Would you like to put it on? We'll get you all done up and make the changes if you're ready." She was still staring transfixed at the dress.

"Okay." She whispered a bit hollowly. Harry began to wonder if he'd messed up somehow. She seemed almost too worked up about this.

"Right. Mr. Potter. Out. Take your tea if you like but out, we have work to do."

Harry found himself gently but firmly being led out of the room, both curtains and doors swept shut behind him. Padma led him to a little chair just off to the side in what would be called an alcove, if it was made of walls and not fabric, and he settled in to wait, conjuring a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen to write with while he waited.

HPHPHP~

Hermione went through the next few stages in a whirl of fabric and color and sweet scented perfume and kindly voices, as Padma and Clarisse whisked her efficiently out of the clothing she was wearing, batting away her bashfulness with their calm professional tones, stepping her up on the pedestal, back down off the pedestal, into the dress, out of the dress, into her shoes, out of her shoes, back into the dress, back into her clothes, and then she was seated with tea pressed firmly into her hand while the ladies began to sew.

"Won't take five minutes, love. You take a break now." Clarisse had said as she settled her back on the divan.

Padma joined her on the edge of the divan, shooting a charm at the teapot to re-heat it and began to work quietly on some papers, sipping at the tea all the while.

"When did you start all this?" Hermione asked quietly, gesturing at the shop.

"We opened for business three months ago after I wrangled Clarisse away from the boutique place she was working as tailor at." Padma explained, smiling at the other woman fondly. "My sister and I have always liked fashion and now that the cleanup efforts from the war are finally starting to settle down, I thought I might like to actually pursue that dream."

"And what a dream it is" Clarisse remarked from where she was sitting, fabric and needles and thread making a veritable cloud around her head. "You should take her through the store when we're done here. We have styles from all over the world under one roof. It's so lovely to work on all the different designs. That alone would've stolen me away from those French snobs without the added incentive of spending all my time with you." Another cute smile was exchanged between the couple.

"The added bonus is that my parents love it." Padma admitted to Hermione, smiling softly. "They've always been business folk and while they are proud to support Pavarti, they don't really get it, you know?"

Hermione nodded, thinking of her own parents with a pang of sadness. They had never understood her talk of careers in the wizarding world even before she'd restored their memories. Something like this that straddled both worlds might have appeased them before, although she supposed it would make little difference to them now.

"Are you going to the ball?" Hermione asked tentatively, hoping that the topic change wouldn't seem too superfluous.

"Yes, though we will see how it goes." Here Padma smiled somewhat tiredly. "I don't know if you keep up with the news, but a lot of our people aren't too happy with my choice of partner. I'm not as important as you or Harry were to the war effort, but my sister and I were still called war heroes and, like most of our year, were pretty closely watched by the press. Pavarti tried to do damage control when it all came out, but even she can't turn the tide against the more traditional of our people."

"Oh no!" Hermione was quite incensed by this, and began to think furiously. "Is there anything I can do to help? Other than request that you and Clarisse are seated with Harry and I, I mean. It'll mean you aren't harassed at the ball, and, well, with the way things have been going for the both of us we hadn't put in our seating arrangements yet, although Kingsley asked us about it weeks ago. We can arrange for Pavarti to join us as well, and her date, if she has one."

"She'll be seated with the press and making contacts there, but I'd be really grateful if you'd do that for Clarisse and I, if you and Harry don't mind being seated with us…"

"Why on earth would we? You're doing us a great favour right now, and we're former commrades. We stick together. Or we should."

"It'd mean the world to me." Padma answered quietly. "Not for my own sake but for Clarisse. She takes the insults pretty harshly, and if I could shield her from that hurt…"

Clarisse made a tutting noise from where she was seated. "It's not hurt so much as a desire to rip their heads from their puny little necks. I did not participate in this war of yours m'dear, I have not yet tired of violence in the same way your people have. And their insensitive nature is appalling. Truly, you English people are some of the rudest I've ever met."

"Yes dear." Padma said exasperatedly, shrugging at Hermione softly.

"Now come Miss Granger, your dress is ready. Let us doll you up." Clarisse gestured Hermione over to the podium imperiously. Hermione sighed and set down her half finished tea, shimmying out of her regular clothes once again. She stepped up onto the elevated platform, trying not to stare at her body in the mirror as she maneuvered into her shoes. For as young as she was, she was covered in a lot of scars, she thought grimly, resisting the urge to try to cover her body once more, knowing that Clarisse would snap and Padma would sigh if she did. The women turned her away from the mirror as they dressed her, lifting the dress up as she stepped into it, fastening the straps and sliding in two enchanted pins to the delicate knots at the back, Padma explaining that nothing would move out of place as long as they were in, that it was the most effective way of holding up a top of this kind. Hermione smiled at her kindness and then looked up as the women stepped back, both grinning at her. Clarisse twisted Hermione's hair up and magicked it in place for the moment, and she had to let out a little gasp. She looked stunning.

She hardly paid attention as Clarisse continued to fuss with her hair, playing with the curls until they tumbled down over one shoulder, leaving most of the mass swept up in an elegant updo. The dress was a brilliant copper that seemed to make her skin glow warmly, fanning out into a sleek skirt with a bit of a slit, but what stood out and made her look more grown up then she ever thought she had before was the bodice. It had a much more plunging neckline than she'd ever dreamed of wearing, but although it was daring it was still modest enough that she felt covered.. The straps of the gown went over her shoulders, then intersected in four places with the back of the gown, otherwise leaving her back entirely bare. There were tiny shimmering beads dotted up the front part of the straps, and a little in a line from her right hip to an asymmetrical dip on her left side, but otherwise the fabric did the job all on its own. She was grateful that the fabric hid her scars from the department of ministries debacle, leaving only the marks on her arm from Bellatrix exposed to the world.

"And I always thought Harry had atrocious fashion sense." She joked, laughing along with the other women softly.

"Let's go show him." Padma suggested, helping her to step down. Hermione took one more look at herself and smiled shyly at the mirror. She felt both incredibly beautiful and incredibly overwhelmed. Harry might not know it, but he'd just gifted her with something she'd never forget— the tiny bit of self-confidence she needed to face a room full of glamorous people in just over a week's time.


	18. Can't Keep Your Mind Off

Chapter 18- Can't Keep Your Mind Off

AN: This one took me a little longer than planned, but hey it's also a bit longer! I hope that makes up for it. As always I don't own or profit. The title is from the song of the same name by Data Romance.

Harry had finished with his list a good ten minutes ago, his tea before that, and he was starting to get a bit antsy wondering what all the girls could be doing in there. He had just gotten up to go check on them himself, when he heard the rustlings of fabric and laughter, the parting of curtains, and then saw Padma and Clarisse coming around the corner, smiling broadly. He smiled back at them and shoved his list in his pocket, anticipating news. What he didn't anticipate was for them to step aside and allow Hermione to come into view, framed spectacularly by the linen walls of his alcove, smiling nervously and looking absolutely radiant. He set his cup down absently on the floor and gaped.

"How—" he managed weakly, causing a nervous giggle to erupt from her.

"You tell me Harry, you're the one who picked the dress."

"I didn't know it would look like…" he gestured in absence of words.

"Well, then you did an extremely good job." Clarisse said.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" That was Padma.

He didn't manage to answer right away, busy looking her over from head to toe. When had his best friend gotten so beautiful? He thought back, remembering that her smile had always been lovely, her figure the few times she wore formfitting outfits more than passible. But now she looked grown up and more than a little ravishing. When had he ever longed to touch her hair? Certainly never as strongly as he did now. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, her skin to glow. She looked almost like a goddess before him. He tugged at his shirt collar uncomfortably. What was wrong with him?

"You look great, Hermione. Really. I didn't know, it just seemed right in Belarus but I had no idea you'd look so…" he floundered for words again.

"You've rendered the poor boy speechless." Padma interjected again. He felt a stab of annoyance at her pointing it out.

"Well, you picked out the dress, these two made it fit perfectly, all I had to do was stand there." Hermione seemed a bit bashful now.

"You're always beautiful." The words out before he could stop them. She blushed a bit and looked at him confusedly, causing him to hastily change the subject.

"Well, now that you've guaranteed that she won't be swimming in the dress, I guess I should pay you lovely ladies." He smiled widely at Padma and her partner. "Thank you again for getting us in on such short notice, you made it absolutely perfect."

An awkward silence fell for only a second before Clarisse, exchanging a quick look with Padma, stepped in to fill the silence.

"Right, I will get Hermione out of the dress, Mr. Potter, if you would join my partner up front?" Harry wasn't sure, due to the quickness with which she whisked her away, but he thought Hermione's face might have fallen a little. He let the confusion of that bowl him over while he followed Padma obediently to a little office on the other side of the store. They settled the finances quite easily, with him insisting on paying her extra for the trouble, even though she insisted that this close to Christmas they weren't busy at all and it had been no problem to fit them in. She finally acquiesced when he cited how impressed he was with the dress, the timeliness, and the privacy that she'd provided him with.

When he left the room, Hermione was wandering about the dresses, chatting with Clarisse about the different colours and styles, her dress and shoes neatly waiting for them by the screen closest the door. He felt a little uneasy as he watched her float amongst the fabrics, a smile on her face. Maybe it was just the sushi, he told himself as his stomach seemed to attempt to plummet to his shoes. Maybe it had nothing to do at all with the fact that he realized just how beautiful his best friend was.

HPHPHP~

Hermione was a bit baffled at both the way Harry had reacted to her and the way he'd reacted to his own reaction. He had bought the dress, so there was no reason, to her logical mind, that he wouldn't have thought about what she looked like in it beforehand.

She'd stayed quiet while Clarisse helped her out of the dress, hardly listening as the woman explained again how to do up the dress on her own when she wore it again, putting on her regular clothes as speedily as possible, telling herself she was happy to be in something more substantial than the pretty gown. She debated not even wearing it to the gala, but knew she would. She owned nothing else suitable for such an event, and Harry Potter be damned, she had felt good in that dress, even if it was clear to her that her best friend didn't think it suited her. He couldn't tactfully say that the dress had been too extravagant for her, but she knew from his face and mannerisms. They way he'd said you're always beautiful had cinched it for her. He had been trying to let her down easily with a hollow compliment.

"Would you like to see the rest of the store while your companion settles the bill?" Clarisse asked kindly, pulling her from her reverie.

"Oh, yes please!" she said, allowing herself to be moved along to the main shop with no complaining at all. The dresses were beautiful, and she had been interested to see how they'd mixed the muggle and wizarding styles together.

She didn't hear Harry approach until he was almost beside her and as such she almost didn't catch the pensive look on his face before it rapidly switched to a smile.

"Ready to go?" she asked him cheerfully.

"Whenever you are, no rush." He responded.

"Right. Thank you again, Clarisse, and we will see you at the ball!" Hermione affirmed warmly, clasping her hand between her own smaller ones.

Clarisse's expression softened slightly and she smiled as she replied. "And thank you again for that. It means the world to Padma and I."

Harry was looking between the two of them askance, and smiling at him she linked his arm through his and began to walk them back towards the entrance of the shop. She shrunk down her dress and shoes carefully before pocketing them, and walked them all the way out of the store, being sure to be extra sweet to the annoyed secretary before they stepped out onto the busy street.

"Hermione, what was that about?"

"Do you think Kingsley would still be in office today and have time to see us."

"Yes probably but wait— what— why?"

"I want to see if he'll still grant us the seating arrangement request he sent out last month. I've decided Clarisse and Padma should sit with us." She explained simply. "The wizarding world hasn't been kind to them since they announced their partnership and they fear being harassed. I figure if they sit with us they'll be shielded from a lot of the brunt of it."

"Oh."

"What, am I not allowed to do acts of good? Do you have a Chosen One patent on all the good things in the world?" She teased, bumping into his side lightly.

"No, it's just, I just realized we'll probably be braving all of that without Ginny and Ron." He said quietly, a tense look on his face. "I keep forgetting that there's going to be more and more firsts without them."

Hermione sighed, linking her arm through his firmly, and began to lead him down the crowded streets in an attempt to keep him from walking into people. "Well, in a lot of ways, you still have Ron." She explained practically. "Things are going to be… rough between he and I for a while, but he's still your best friend. Isn't that one of the reasons we're going to the Burrow tomorrow? Because you miss him and he misses you and his family loves you and they want you to be with them for Christmas?"

"I guess I have kinda avoided him." Harry mumbled.

"Yes, and he won't thank you for it. He's going to be wary about it, but at the end of the day, he's Ron. He'll come around, you'll come around, it will work out. For both of you. It always has." She smiled at him reassuringly, relaxing a little when he seemed to take her words to heart and straightened up a little, his eyes becoming lighter.

"I hope you're right."

"I know I am. Now take me to the ministry, we have a minister to harass."

HGHGHG~

Hermione would be forever amused by how the Ministry of Magic now bent over backwards for Harry, especially because she knew he would never forgive them entirely, not when "I must not tell lies" was still etched as a scar in his hand. The place was much busier than she'd anticipated, with everyone trying to get their last minute official things taken care of before the place closed for the holiday. Harry looked momentarily dumbfounded at the sheer multitude of people as well, but as they began to walk the room seemed to part in front of him. Hermione tactfully pretended not to notice that it made him blush.

He strode purposefully towards the welcome witch, a little blonde nervous woman who began to fidget as they approached and looked vaguely terrified by the time they'd reached the desk.

"Hello."

"Mr. Potter! We weren't expecting you today."

"I wasn't expecting to be here either." He smiled sheepishly and Hermione fought not to roll her eyes. "I was hoping you could tell me if Melina is in? And where I could find her? I asked her for help on a project a little while ago and was hoping to follow up on it."

Hermione stared at Harry in consternation. Melina? A project? What happened to going to see Kingsley?

"Did you happen to have a last name or a department?" the welcome witch asked kindly. "We employ so many people here it's hard to narrow it down."

"Erm. No to both. She just told me her name was Melina. She was assigned to escort me to the International Travel Department when I was here before. Does that help?"

"You assigned escort?" The welcome witch narrowed her eyes, continuing to fidget nerviously. "Well we should have some record of that. Just give me a moment."

"Melina?" Hermione hissed at Harry.

"Trust me." Harry said simply, keeping his attention focused on the welcome witch. It took a few minutes while the woman muttered to herself and waved her wand, sending papers rapidly back and forth across her desk. Finally, she raised a piece of paper triumphantly.

"Here we go. Melina Gatherfeather. 3rd floor, accidental spells and magic. Says here she's working on a special project with the Minister, so if she's not there I'd say just go on up and see if she's with him. Here's your clearance pass." She handed Harry a small golden coloured card. "Pleasure seeing you Mister Potter, I hope your business goes well, and have a happy holiday!"

"Thanks so much." Harry smiled warmly and then they were off toward the lifts, Hermione still confused and growing more irritated by the second with Harry.

They miraculously managed to get in a lift with only three other people, heading toward floor 3. He looked toward Hermione reassuringly and murmured "I promise I'll explain in a minute." More people had gotten on at the second floor, but it still wasn't as uncomfortable as Hermione had anticipated when she saw the masses of people lining the atrium.

Lift ride aside, when they reached the third floor and stepped into the hall, it was like a step straight into chaos. Hermione hadn't anticipated such a crowd of people, all who seemed to be focusing their collective ire on the three reception clerks.

"There must have been an influx of accidental magic." She muttered to Harry.

"Holidays." He replied, as if it explained it, which she supposed it did. They moved through the grumpy people until they reached one of the open receptionists, who looked first startled then annoyed to see the pair of them.

"Mr. Potter." He said rather coolly. "What can we do for you today? We are rather busy."

"Hello, is Melina in?" Harry asked politely, either ignoring or not noticing the tone of the man.

"No, sorry. She has work to do with the Minister."

"Alright then, we'll just head on up, thanks."

"Just… head on up?" the man repeated derisively. "You can't just disturb the minister any time you want!" Harry dangled the golden keycard in front of the man nonchalantly.

"Oh, I thought this meant I could go wherever I wanted?" the man gaped at them, looking upset and confused.

"Have a nice day." Hermione said firmly, pulling Harry back to the elevators. She was growing tired of power plays and just wanted to get this over with.

"What was all of that about?" she asked her bespectacled companion as the whispers of the remaining people followed them.

"I asked Melina weeks ago if she could arrange a meeting for me with Kingsley. I wanted to find out if she'd been successful or not before we stopped in to see him or if I should be discussing those matters now as well."

"What kinds of matters?" But Harry shook his head at her minutely as they stepped back onto the lift. Apparently she would have to wait until they reached the sanctity of Kingsley's office before she found out what was going on.

Hermione was right, and the ride up to the minister's office passed in silence, with only two stops for Harry to wave their pass lazily at the scanner and then at security on the top floor. After the scandals came to light and both the public and the ministry panicked about how long the previous minister had been under Imperious with no one the wiser, the security in the Ministry had at least seemed to increase dramatically. Hermione wasn't sure about the money and energy drain when there were still many homeless and war-scarred people left over from the aftermath of the war, but it made people feel better about returning to the Ministry for work, where there was a serious need for workers, at least temporarily.

They marched past reception this time, Harry not even sparing a glance for the clearly overwhelmed secretary, and knocked on the large wooden door which was open an inch, Kingsley's rich tone pouring out through the crack abruptly cutting out.

There was silence, then footsteps, and then the minister was standing before them, looking much more tired than the last time Hermione had seen him, the door open wide to show a pretty brunette anxiously sorting through papers and a tiny grey haired woman tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger! I wasn't expecting you! Do come in, this will only take a moment." The brunette seemed to pale at this and the older woman went from a look of impatience to cold distrust.

"We were just in the middle of something." She said pointedly, her foot tapping ceasing entirely as she looked at Kingsley with no small amount of anger.

"Oh we can wrap up in front of Mr. Potter, I'm sure, seeing as it concerns him." Kingsley replied pleasantly, standing behind his desk once more and smiling at the entire room benignly. Hermione wondered if he was actively channeling Dumbledore or if it was one of the side effects of being in a position of power.

"Hello Melina, Ms. Warthers." Harry said politely, nodding to the two women in the room. "I don't think either of you has met my friend Hermione Granger?" he gestured to Hermione which gained her one half-nod and a tremulous smile and little wave of acknowledgement. "I actually had wished to speak with you on a personal matter, Minister, I'm not sure if Melina let you know that I had requested a meeting with you? But I'd gladly help you settle whatever you need here first."

Kingsley's smile seemed a bit smug and his eyes flashed with approval. Hermione noted the power dynamics in this room made her wish just a little for an actual battle where she could stun the lot of them instead of playing at diplomacy. Harry had clearly won a point for Kingsley, knowingly or unknowingly, which would make him more amenable to doing Harry a favour, which she admitted was a good thing for them, but to do so he had potentially put Melina under fire.

"As you know, the Ministry is looking to rebrand itself." Hermione looked at him sharply for using the muggle term, and he inclined his head towards her. "We didn't act in a way that was productive towards the prevention of the war or in the protection of our people when the fighting broke out."

Harry nodded politely but said nothing, focused entirely on Kingsley.

"We've already begun the process, working on rehabilitating veterans, finding work for unemployed witches and wizards, setting up programs for reintegration of all those who fled for safety, helping set up registries and task teams for missing people, and beginning to look at the treatment of muggleborns during both wars with a hope to develop content to begin ridding wizarding society of our prejudices."

"Well, you know I'd be interested in helping with that, Minister. Although that might be difficult with my new schedule."

"Ahh yes you're doing some international work now Melina was telling me. I'm glad. You should enjoy yourself a little now, take the chance to enjoy being a young man." Kingsley's smile was warm and oddly endearing. "And if you can do work you find rewarding while you do so, all the better. I do have a proposition for you though, if it won't take up too much of your time. I'd also like to bring Miss Granger in to consult, if she is amenable. There will be incentive to you both if you consider it."

"Offering us perks before we even know what the job is? You must be pretty serious and it must be pretty horrible." Harry said, crossing the room and taking the chair next to the older woman casually. Hermione hesitated for a moment, then moved to join him, hovering at his shoulder in a way that she hoped wasn't too unobtrusive.

"What do you need, Kingsley?" Harry said firmly, looking the older man dead in the eye after he seated himself.

"What I need, Harry, is your support. The world remembers the way we stood against each other in war, the way the Order turned their backs on the Ministry, and they see now why we did it. Corruption has run rampant through the roots of our system for much too long, and the public is beginning to think that it needs to change. I'd like, ideally, for three things to happen. When you were completing auror training it would have been a lot simpler, but we can work around it. First, I am hoping you will consent to be a witness and testify to the horrors that Madame Umbridge was inflicting both in Hogwarts and later, without. We have records of you breaking in to her office and if you had any evidence during her regime we could use, physical or memory based, it would strengthen our case a lot. If we can take down her team and remove any of her key players from the ministry it would do a lot to help weed out the blood supremacy rhetoric that is still seeping into the system."

"Done." Harry and Hermione said in unison, the scars on his hand shining pearly white as he clenched his fist.

"Miss Granger?" Kingsley asked measuredly.

"I may not have as much clout as Harry, but if you're in need of another witness I'm more than willing to testify. Anything to get that horrible woman out of power. I'll even round up a group of people if you need." She answered, feeling her magic prickle along the edges of her fingertips. Harry rubbed at his own hands absently while he nodded, anger making his face tight.

"I'll have Melina make a note and get back to you on that."

"The next part involves cooperation with more than just you and I am afraid. It will require cooperation with the press, with the unspeakables, and with a seer."

"A seer?" Hermione was proud to see Harry narrow his eyes suspiciously at this. After their experience with Trelawney and then the prophecy surrounding the war she knew she personally had more than enough to do with divination.

"We would like, with your consent, to release the contents of the prophecy to the general public. Normally prophecies are kept quite secret, not wanting to tamper with destiny and all that, but as it served an important role in the war we'd like to make its contents known and possibly studied."

"How will you do that when the record was shattered?" Harry asked, not answering the question just yet.

"That's where the permissions become more tricky. You are the only person with a living memory of its full contents as recorded by Sybil Trelawney. We would need permission to extract and edit the memory, making a new record for the Hall as well as one for the general public." Hermione read in his tone that the second version would likely be different, and significantly edited.

"And that's where I come in." The older woman had spoken up again, looking cold instead of merely angry Hermione noted.

"If the Department of Mysteries were to release this prophecy, it could mean disaster. Unless we can verify that all conditions of the missive were met to our standards we couldn't risk such a thing. And even then, if we could, a toll would have to be paid."

"A toll?"

"Yes, of course, Miss Granger. Equivalent exchange. A price must be paid."

"And I've told you that he won't pay it." Kingsley seemed suddenly ferociously firm.

Harry paused a moment, the energy in the room heavy and palpable on Hermione's skin. Finally, hesitantly, he asked "but Kingsley can't speak for me, can he? I could enter the agreement of my own accord."

"Harry." Kingsley warned, "I've heard her terms and you can't possibly—"

"If I agreed to your terms, up front, right now, would you consider doing something for me?"

"It might increase your toll." The woman said in a way that seemed surprisingly fair to Hermione considering the ire that had been rolling off of her for their entire meeting.

"It might be worth it."

"Alright, Mr. Potter. We will discuss your contract later. I am glad you are more reasonable then our" she sniffed "Minister."

"I will consent to the release of information on behalf of the accords if a deal can be made. I will deal with you and you only, however. You will meet me after this meeting. I will see you in 14 minutes. Better make it 15, the lift will be late." The woman stood as if she hadn't undergone the strangest series of changes in the last few minutes, nodded to Kingsley, and walked out of the room assuredly.

"What just happened?" Melina asked timidly after she'd swept from the room.

Kingsley sighed and rubbed his face with the heel of his hand tiredly. "Harry may have just made a deal with the devil."


End file.
